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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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lOX  14X  18X  22X 


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32X 


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required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


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Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
iilustrent  la  mdthode. 


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THE 


HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


A   ROMANCE, 


'^"'', 

*" 


.  1 


INSTRUCTIVE,   ABSORBING,  THRILLING. 


BY  WILLIAM  McDonnell, 

▲UTHOB  or  EZSTEB  BAIiL.  EXa.  K10. 


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NEW    YORK: 

PUBLISHED    BY    D.   M.    BENNETT, 

335    BROADWAY. 

1874. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Consrress.  In  the  year  im.  by 

WILLIAM  McDonnell, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 
lAll  rights  reserved.] 


■"-SJf. 


I 


4t. 


■m 


PREFACE. 


Owing  to  the  great  success  attending  the  publication  of 
"Exeter  Hall"— a  theological  romance,  now  entering 
its  fourth  edition— and  moved  by  what  I  believe  to  be  a 
marked  necessity  of  the  times,  I  have  been  induced  to  pen 
the  following  pages,  and  to  lay  them  also  before  the 
liberal  and  intelligent  reader. 

The  work  having  been  written  under  some  difficulties, 
at  various  times  and  in  various  places,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
that  whatever  criticism  may  be  bestowed  upon  it  shall 
be  in  a  spirit  as  generous  as  it  is  just,  and  that  it  may 
be  always  borne  in  mind,  that,  in  giving  these  pcges  to 
the  world,  the  disenthrallment  of  his  fellow  men  from 
degrading  usages,  prejudices  and  beliefs  has  been  the  solo 
object  of 


THE  AUTHOR. 


Lindsay, 

Ontario,  Canada, 
September,  1874. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


CHAPTER    I. 


PENDEI-L   CHUI^OH. 

"TN  the  waning  light  the  old  church  rose  with  its  ivied 
-■-  drapery  above  the  surrounding  trees,  and  its  ancient 
tower  still  stood  proudly  erect,  as  if  to  over-top  the  range  of 
northern  hills  by  which  it  was  sheltered.  The  iron  bird 
long  perched  over  the  same  turreted  structure,  was  now 
Immovable  in  the  calm  sky ;  it  gave  no  indication  to  the 
waiting  mariner,  and  from  its  elevated  pivot  in  the  motion- 
less air,  it  looked  towards  the  slumbering  ocean  on  the 
south,  as  if  intently  watching  the  gradual  disappearance 
of  some  distant  sail. 

How  many  centuries  must  have  passed  since  the  deep 
foundations  of  that  old  grey  edifice  were  laid ;  how  many 
generations  must  have  been  swept  away  since  the  first 
huge  stones  of  Pendell  Church  were  buried  in  the  earth ! 
It  was  a  venerable  pile  that  seemed  to  link  the  present 
with  antiquity.  For  the  last  two  or  three  hundred  years 
men  had  been  wondering  at  its  great  age ;  it  appeared  to 
have  gradually  risen  from  the  enriched  soil  and  verdant 
surface,  and  as  the  mysterious  up-growth  of  piety,  to  have 
escaped  the  ravages  of  time,  in  order  to  mark  one  sacred 
spot  to  which  various  and  successive  races  of  men  had 
come,  throu^'h  emotions  of  love  or  fear,  to  exhibit  forms 


6 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  faith  and  worship  in  song  of  praise  or  bloody  sacrifice ; 
and  stout  buttress,  massive  wall,  and  lofty  tower,  still 
clutched  the  solid  earth,  as  if  determined  that  their  union 
should  last  forever. 

What  a  strange,  strange  history  has  this  Pendell  sanct- 
uary ;  what  varied  scenes,  what  dark  intrigues,  what  holy 
strife,  and  what  sad  events  were  enacted  within  and  around 
its  very  walls!  Yet  there  it  stood,  the  mute  record  of  life 
and  death ;  and  from  that  same  sad  record  tales  of  sorrow 
and  rejoicing,  and  of  revenge  and  blood,  were  told  by 
mossy  rock  or  at  the  winter  fireside,  by  old  men  who  had 
heard  the  same  legends  from  their  grandfathers ;  and  tra- 
ditions of  superstition,  intolerance  and  devastation,  were 
related  as  incidents  of  that  same  dark  history. 

These  singular  traditions  taught  also,  that,  long  before 
Druidical  worship  was  known  in  Britain,  certain  mission- 
ary tribes  from  a  remote  land,— from  India,  from  Egypt, 
or  from  Persia,— had  erected  huge  stones  around  the  very 
site  of  Pendell  church,  and  its  enclosed  graveyard ;  and 
the  space  that  was  now  nearly  covered  with  mossy,  crumb- 
ling tombs,  and  with  graves  almost  hidden  in  the  long, 
raak  grass,  was,  perhaps,  once  included  in  the  "sacred 
circle,"  within  which  religion  was  inculcated  by  strange, 
mysterious  ceremonies,  either  in  worship  of  the  triad  of 
Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva,  or  of  Osiris,  Isis,  and  Horus,  or 
by  the  Persian  or  the  Parsee,  while  bowing  before  the 
effulgent  Sun  in  adoration  of  the  great  Ormuzd ;  and  then 
in  the  course  of  time,  when  these  and  other  deities  had 
been  superseded,  Woden  and  Thor  had  here  their  votaries ; 
and  here,  too,  beneath  the  shadow  of  some  ancient  oak, 
once  stood  the  Druidical  altar,  its  white-robed  priest  and 
his  devout  attendants. 

Though  the  idea  of  a  supremo  power,  or  of  a  future 
state,  has  not  been  universal,  yet,  from  the  beginning, 
from  our  earliest  knowledge  of  the  remote  past,  we  find 
that  man,  in  almost  every  clime,  has  been  a  worshiper. 
With  rare  exceptions,  almost  every  tribe  or  nation  has 
paid  homage  to  some  great  superior,  either  real  or  fancied. 


TBB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


lacriflce ; 
7or,  still 
iir  union 

»U  sanot- 
Iiat  holy 
1  around 
:d  of  life 
•f  sorrow 
told  by 
who  had 
and  tra- 
on,  were 

ig  before 
mission- 
1  Egypt, 
the  very 
ird;  and 
,  crumb- 
le long, 
' sacred 
Btrange, 
triad  of 
orus,  or 
ore  the 
nd  then 
ies  had 
otaries ; 
nt  oak, 
lest  and 

future 
inning, 
we  find 
•shiper. 
on  has 
!ancied. 


Some  have  seen  the  placid  smilo  of  doity  in  the  early  sun- 
beam ;  others  have  trembled  to  hoar  his  angry  voice  in  the 
midnight  tempest ;  but  man's  noblest  emotions  have  over 
been  awakened  while  acting  in  submission  to  that  control- 
ling power  which  his  imagination  has  depicted  as  being 
the  most  beneficent.  A  compassionate  deity  has  always 
been  more  beloved  than  the  Omnipotence  which  has  been 
represented  as  jealous  and  revengeful ;  and  If  man  truly 
"paints  himself  in  his  god,"  the  liberality  or  intolerance 
of  a  people  may  be  assumed  according  to  the  character  of 
the  deity  they  are  known  to  reverance. 

The  first  simple  worshipers  at  Pendell,  In  the  fulness  of 
their  gratitude,  gathered  the  most  beautiful  flowers,  which 
they  might  have  fancied  as  being  the  plumage  of  angels 
wings,  and  presented  them  as  a  thanks  offering  to  their 
kind  genii;  others  brought  forth  the  rich,  ripe  fruit  to 
Budha,  or  to  Isis ;  while  suppliants  to  a  deity  more  stern 
and  exacting,  offered  their  weapons  and  their  animals; 
and  frantic  votaries,  eager  to  propitiate  some  incensed 
god,  lacerated  their  own  fiesh,  or  shed  the  blood  of  the 
human  victim,  or  bade  the  mother  give  her  infant  to  the 
fiames ;  and  when  it  was  considered  urgent  to  appease  the 
anger  of  a  furious  deity,  holocausts  of  human  beings  were 
remorselessly  offered. 

But  then,  with  the  flight  of  time,  the  gods  of  India  and 
Egypt,  and  Persia,  were  forsaken,  and  on  came  the  con- 
quering Roman  into  Britain  with  his  chief  divinities,  and 
with  his  Lares  and  Penates.  He  gradually  undermined 
the  Druidical  altar,  and  erected  the  statue  of  Jupiter ;  and 
then,  long  after  the  ancient  Celtic  worship  had  been  set 
aside,  as  connected  with  the  national  faith,  Constantine 
came  and  dethroned  the  Eoman  gods ;  he  brought  back 
the  cross,  a  symbol  which  had  been  venerated  by  the 
nations  of  antiquity ;  he  compromised  with  the  heathen  : 
much  of  the  creeds  and  many  of  the  rites  of  paganism  were 
incorporated  into  the  new  faith,  and  in  time,  after  the 
statue  of  .Tupiter  at  Rome  had  been  pontifical  I  y  blessed  and 
metamorphosed  by  the  Church  into  the  veritable  stutue  of 


THE  BEATUENS  OF  THE  UEATU. 


tho  npostollo  Potor,  many  of  tho  grout  oUl  standing  stones 
of  tlio  "  saoreti  cirolo,"  or  •'  giants'  duoco,"  at  Pondell,  wore 
tumbled  down  to  form  tlio  foundation  of  its  venerable  Chris- 
tian sanctuary. 

Now  in  the  soft  eve,  while  the  red  light  falutly  lingers 
in  the  west,  while  there  is  a  hush  on  earth  for  departing 
day,  and  a  calm  in  heaven  as  the  vesper  star  appears ;  now 
when  tho  feelings  are  subdued  and  solemnized,  let  imagi- 
nation bring  back  some  of  the  scenes  and  characters  con- 
nected with  the  old  church  of  Pendell.  Though  centuries 
have  passed,  it  seems  but  yesterday  since  there  was  hero 
seen  a  grand  procession  of  priests,  monks,  and  other  vota- 
ries, headed  by  mitred  bishops  and  lofty  dignitaries.  They 
came  to  consecrate  this  building,  erected  in  place  of  the 
primitive,  wooden  cathedral  built  by  the  semi-pagans  of 
the  early  Saxon  times;  to  bless  the  earth  destined  to 
receive  the  bodies  of  the  deceased  faithful,  and  to  anathe- 
matize the  incorrigible  who  still  remained  outside  the  pale 
of  the  true  church.  The  simplicity  of  paganism,  and  of  the 
primitive  form  of  Christian  worship,  had  been  gradually 
eclipsed  by  a  brilliant  and  ostentatious  ceremonial,  and 
here  was  a  religious  display  in  keeping  with  the  increasing 
power  and  assum])tion  of  the  priests  of  the  new  national 
faith.  Onward  moved  the  mitred  ecclesiastics ;  crosses  and 
crosiers,  and  spangled  vestments  glitter  in  the  sunlight, 
and  the  silver  censors  flash  in  the  clear  air  as  they  are 
swung  to  send  out  the  fragrant  incense;  strains  of  music 
reach  the  ear,  and  as  the  procession,  in  all  its  religious 
pomp,  winds  slowly  around  the  sacred  edifice,  a  hundred 
devotees  knoel  on  each  side  of  the  advancing  dignitaries, 
while  a  crowd  of  others  follow  in  the  attitude  of  humble 
reverence. 

The  grand  circuit  is  thrice  made ;  the  ground,  oft  moist- 
ened with  the  blood  of  religious  victims,  has  now  been 
sprinkled  only  witn  the  sacred  water  of  the  church.  The 
procession  re-enters  the  building,  but  all  do  not  follow. 
Some  from  the  crowd  hurry  off  to  a  little  distance,  from 
which,  i>erhaps,  to  view  another  ceremony— there  is  to  be 


gfitonea 
ell,  were 
lo  Chris- 

(T  lingers 

eparting 

irs;  now 

)t  imagl- 

bers  con- 

lenturies 

vas  hero 

ler  vota-- 

3.    They 

36  of  the 

agans  of 

tined  to 

►  anathe- 

the  pale 

ad  of  the 

radually 

lial,  and 

creasing 

national 

sses  and 

unlight, 

hey  are 

>f  music 

eligious 

mndred 

litaries, 

humble 

t  moist- 
w  been 
The 
follow. 
e,  from 
is  to  be 


THE  HEATflEKS  OP  THE  HEATH.  9 

another.  Over  a  hundred  yours  before  that  timo,  when 
barbarous  Saxon  priests  mot  hero  to  dodicato  tlio  first  rudo 
Christian  church  in  tho  PondoU  valley,  the  religious  in- 
stinct of  tho  period  lo<l  thorn  to  require  a  sacrilloo,  and 
one  of  the  remaining  Pagan  priests  of  Britain  was  piously 
slaughtered,  as  a  peace  oiforing,  a  short  way  beyond  the 
Christian  altar.  Alasl  that  that  sacrificial  instinct,  so 
foreign  to  humanity,  should  have  become  hereditary  in  the 
Christian  Church! 

Again  the  procession  moves  out  slowly  from  the  bniMIng ; 
it  is  now  headed  by  a  score  of  tonsured  monks  witl'  (>aro 
feet.  Their  coarse  gowns  are  tied  around  the  wairt  by  a 
kind  of  rope ;  each  monk  holds  a  small  wooden  -  jss,  md 
between  the  two  stout  brethren  in  4>dvance  theio  limps  r^ 
decrepid  mar  -/  om  they  are  leading  towards  that  g  ^n  t 
lone  standing  stone  nea."  the  highway.  The  old  man  is 
one  of  t.i3  irreclaimable  children  of  Abraham ;  he  belicTos 
only  in  Moses  and  tho  prophets— not  in  Christ.  Though 
hated  and  despised,  one  more  chance  of  recancation  had 
been  ofifered  him  by  the  mercy  of  the  Church,  but  he  was 
true  to  the  tradition  of  his  fathers— that  offer  had  been 
rejected ;  and,  now,  as  one  of  the  polluted  race,  he  is  de- 
creed unworthy  of  life.  See!  they  have  chained  him  to 
the  great  stone ;  the  sturdy  monks  pile  up  the  fagots  that 
seem  to  thirst  for  flame.  The  mitred  bishops  and  the 
priests  and  their  pliant  followers  stand  reproachfully 
before  him,  and  while  the  grey-haired  Jew  is  terrified  by 
curses  and  denunciations,  he  is  told  to  kiss  the  cross  which 
is  held  towards  him.  The  old  man  is  weeping,  but  that 
cross  is  an  idol  to  him,  and  he  turns  aside  his  head,*  A 
resolute  monk  thrusts  it  into  the  victim's  mouth ;  the  tears 
and  blood  of  the  old  man  mingle,  but  none  can  pity.  In 
fierce  haste  the  torch  is  applied,  and  as  the  flames  leap  up, 
the  shouts  and  imprecations  of  the  furic> js  crowd  drown 
the  groans  of  the  feeble  sufferer. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  last  anathema  is  uttered,  and 


•Giordano  Bruno  who  was  burnt  by  the  Dominicans  at  Rome, 
refused  to  kiss  a  crucifix  held  out  to  him  for  that  purpose. 


10 


•TQE  SEATaEKS  OV  TBE  fiEATfl. 


while  the  monks  remain  to  feed  the  flames,  and  prevent 
any  chance  of  rescue,  bishops,  priests  and  people  return  to 
the  church.  A  number  of  sacred  relics  are  to  be  enshrined 
-—a  piece  of  the  true  cross,  a  nail,  the  beard  of  an  apostle, 
and  the  bones  of  a  martyr,  are  displayed  before  the  won- 
dering faithful,  and  then  deposited.  The  fragrant  incense 
enters  the  silver  shrine,  and  again  clouds  the  lighted  altar ; 
a  Te  Deum  is  sung,  the  benediction  is  pronounced,  and 
the  consecration  of  Pendell  church  is  completed.* 


♦  The  veneration  for  relics  In  the  Church  of  Borne  la.  amonsr 
many  of  its  adherents,  as  srreat  as  ever.  The  foUowinfir  extract  is 
from  a  Canadian  paper,  dated  Sept.  22d,  1873. 

"  Relics  for  St.  Michael's  Cathediial.— An  unusual  event  took 
place  yesterday  afternoon  in  St.  Michael's  Cathedral,  being  the  depo- 
sition of  certain  relics  vnder  one  of  the  altars.  The  remains  are 
reputed  to  be  those  of  Saint  Victor,  one  of  10,203  soldiers  of  the  Empe- 
ror  Dlocletian.and  commanded  by  Saint  Zeno.  These  soldiers  refus- 
ed to  sacrifice  to  the  srods  of  heathen  Home,  and  were  put  to  death, 
after  forced  labor  at  the  Baths  of  Diocletian  for  seven  years.  The 
bodies  were  buried  at  Tre  Fontani,  where  it  is  believed  St.  Paul  had 
suffered  martyrdom  under  the  Emperor  Nero.  His  Qraoe,  the  Arch- 
bishop, while  on  his  late  visit  to  Rome,  procured  these  remains  to  be 
placed  under  an  altar  in  the  Cathedral  for  the  veneration  of  the  Oath- 
olica.  The  relics  were  beautifully  encased  in  wax.  A  solemn  pro- 
cession was  formed  in  the  garden,  the  body  of  the  martyr  being  borne 
by  a  train  of  the  clergy  in  full  ecclestastical  vestments,  and  by  them 
deposited  in  its  resting  place.  After  vespers  a  brief  history  of  the 
life  of  this  Saint  was  given  by  the  Rev.  Archdeaoon,  and  the  ceremony 
closed  witli  the  benediction  of  the  Blessed  Saoramea''  '* 


I  prevent 
return  to 
mshrined 
1  apostle, 
the  won- 
Lt  incense 
ted  altar ; 
need,  and 


1b.  amonj; 
:  extract  is 

event  took 

g  the  depo- 

jmains  are 

f  the  Empe- 

liers  refas> 

ut  to  death. 

'ears.    The 

t.  Paul  had 

I,  the  Aroh- 

aains  to  be 

>f  the  Cath- 

)lemn  pro- 

»elng  borne 

id  by  them 

ory  of  the 

ceremony 


I 


:'%; 


OHAPTEB   II. 


^HBIBTIAN     HABHOinr. 


IN  past  times  when  the  Church  was  all  powerful,  when 
it  might  be  said  there  was  but  one  true  church  in  all 
Christendom,  when  no  important  disputes  occurred  on 
doctrinal  points,  although  loud  and  bitter  discussions  took 
place  on  the  grave  question  of  how  priests  and  monks 
should  shave  their  heads,  or  wear  the  tonsure,  then  not 
more  than  one  book  might  be  found  in  a  parish,  or  not 
more  than  one  man  who  could  read  it;  then,  many  pre- 
lates could  not  even  write,  and  priests,  and  monks,  and 
friars  roamed  as  beggars,  or  as  robbers  through  a  hungry 
land.  Nearly  all  of  the  baptized  faithful— slaves  or  free- 
men—then grew  up  to  be  ignorant,  brutal,  and  ferocious ; 
and  then  the  legitimate  business  of  kings- seemed  to  be 
but  wanton  rapine  or  murder.  Then,  Christian  nations 
were  most  faithless,  and  Christian  men  and  women  were 
most  faithless;  and  then  Christian  priests  were  most 
numerous;  and,  though  not  licensed  to  shed  human 
blood,  yet  might  follow  armies,  and  stalk  through  the 
battle  field,  and  with  iron  headed  mace  dash  out  the  brains 
of  wounded  enemies ;  and  then,  also,  for  the  commission 
of  even  petty  o£Fences,  gashed  and  mutilated  creatures 
could  be  found  almost  helpless  in  every  corner  of  the  land. 
In  these  dark  times  what  was  the  restraining  influence  of 
the  true  church?  Amid  all  the  piety  and  terror  when 
oppression  jras  the  rule,  there  was  the  added  terror  of 
iuva&ion.    Shortly  after  the  consecration  at  Peudell,  the 


12 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


warlike  Danes  came  and  almost  destroyed  its  sanctuary. 
The  abbot  was  slain  on  its  altar  steps,  and  monks  lay 
bleeding  and  dead  in  and  around  the  building.  The  Danes 
returned  once  more  to  renew  their  acts  of  spoliation  and 
Sacrilege.  They  again  plundered  this  church,  slaughtered 
its  cowled  monks,  and  robbed  and  burned  their  monastery ; 
and  Danish  and  Saxon  priests  lonp:  continued  in  fierce  and 
bloody  struggles  for  secular  and  ecclesiastical  possession ; 
and  when,  after  many  years  of  brutal  strife,  the  great 
Saxon  revenge  was  taken  on  St.  Brice's  day,  Danes  lay 
murdered  around  the  altar  of  this  veuy  church,  in  which 
they  had  sought  refuge. 

Then  there  was  another  Invasion ;  the  Norman  came, 
and  Norman  prelates,  backed  by  victorious  hordes,  depri- 
ved Saxon  bishops  of  their  power ;  and  heedless  of  a  com- 
mon faith,  or  of  clerical  rights,  they  assumed  jurisdiction 
over  the  spiritual  and  temporal  resources  of  each  diocese. 
The  monastery,  which  had  been  restored,  and  which  once 
stood  near  this  old  church,  was  then  occupied  by  Benedic- 
tine monks  who  claimed  to  be  exempt  from  canonical 
obedience  to  the  foreign  ordinary,  and  who  resisted  the 
prelatical  authority  of  the  rapacious  Norman.  But  the 
priestly  invader  knew  his  power,  and  would  not  yield  his 
spiritual  plunder.  Appeals  to  Eome  were  completely  inef- 
fectual, and  after  much  fierce  contention  between  bishop 
and  monk,  the  abbot  was  rudely  deposed  by  the  stranger. 
But  the  monks  had  their  own  revenge.  The  Norman  prelate 
was  slain  at  midnight  at  the  entrance  of  the  sanctuary, 
and  his  body  long  lay,  among  others  of  the  consecrated 
dead,  in  one  of  the  many  stone  coffins,  the  lids  of  which 
could  be  seen  level  with  the  tiled  floor  of  Pendell  church. 

Here  came  Peter  the  hermit  on  his  rounds,  and  here  his 
voice  was  heard  invoking  aid  for  the  Crusaders,  denounc- 
ing the  Saracens,  and  praying  for  the  delivery  of  Jerusa- 
lem ;  and  here  within  this  church,  many  a  candidate  for 
knighthood  kept  his  lonely  midnight  vigil  over  the  armor 
that  was  to  protect  him,  as  one  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Gross, 
in  distant  Faiestine.    Alas  I  how  many  of  these  deluded 


I 


'1 


I 


THS  B8ATBEKS  OV  THB  BEATS. 


13 


nctiiary. 
►nks  lay 
le  Danes 
ion  and 
ightered 
nastery ; 
jrce  and 
isession ; 
le  great 
anes lay 
n  which 

n  came, 

s,  dopri- 

f  a  com- 

sdiction 

diocese. 

ich  once 

3enedic- 

monical 

3ted  the 

But  the 

rield  his 

3ly  inef- 

i  bishop 

iranger. 

.  prelate 

ictuary, 

lecrated 

C  which 

church. 

lere  his 

mounc- 

Jerusa- 

ate  for 

armor 

Cross, 

leluded 


S 


champions  left  their  bones  to  bleach  and  crumble  upon 
the  arid  plains  of  Judea!  There  we^e  other  scenes ;  here 
too,  time  after  time,  the  faithful  were  amazed  by  wondrous 
miracles  performed  by  some  noted  Dunstan;  and  by  way 
of  change,  monks  performed  scriptural  plays,  and  lashed* 
the  representative  of  Judas  around  the  altar,  to  the  gireat 
delight  of  credulous  and  edified  spectators.  Here,  again, 
when  one  of  Wickliffe's  wandering  disciples  recklessly 
dared  to  broach  his  heresy,  there  was  a  furious  commotion. 
The  indignant  priests  clamoreu  against  the  outrage  on  the 
ancient  Faith ;  the  common  doom  of  early  innovators  fol- 
lowed, and  the  fanatical  Lollard  lost  his  life. 

After  those  days  there  were  troublous  times.  One  of 
the  detestable  usurpers  whose  reign,  like  that  of  others  in 
Britain,  was  but  a  pestilence,  fancied  himself  almost 
free  to  govern  England  without  even  being  subject  to  the 
usual  dictation  of  the  overshadowing  power  of  Eome.  But 
pontifical  thunder  was  quickly  heard.  Pope  Innocent 
issued  his  interdict,  and  for  six  dreary  years  the  enduring 
subjects  of  king  John  were  deprived  of  almost  every  relig- 
ious rite.  While  the  English  despot  defied  and  feasted, 
and  while  priests  had  a  long  holiday,  the  poor,  suffering 
people  alone  felt  the  punishment.  No  church  bell  tolled, 
no  mass  was  heard,  no  altar,  or  cross,  or  sacred  image 
could  be  seen,  no  man  might  shave  his  beard  or  salute  his 
neighbor ;  the  dead  were  refused  consecrated  ground,  and 
were  tumbled,  without  a  prayer,  into  ditches,  hidden  in 
fields,  or  covered  up  along  the  highways.  Every  place  of 
worship  in  the  kingdom  was  closed,  and  nothing  in  hu- 
man shape  could  be  found  in  Pendell  church,  except  the 
dead  monks  that  were  stretched  in  rows  down  in  its  gloomy 
vaults. 

But  who,  in  those  days,  could  withstand  the  anger  of 
the  Roman  pontiff  ?  The  craven  king  became  submissive, 
resigned  his  kingdom,  and  acknowledged  himself  the  vas- 
sal of  the  Holy  See.  Nothing  less  would  satisfy  God's 
viceregent.  For  such  considerations  the  Church  could 
always  relent,  and  receive  back  into  its  bosom  the  most 


14 


TBS  BBATBEKS  OV  TBB  BEATS. 


I 


desperate  transgressor.  Yet,  though  the  Church  was  in 
plenitude  of  its  power,  there  was  alarming  wickedness  in 
the  land.  The  nation  seemed  debauched,  and  for  years 
the  moral  laxity  of  priest  and  layman  was  almost  over- 
looked in  the  prevailing  depravity  of  the  times ;  even  the 
Church  itself  became  infected,  and,  for  about  forty  years, 
rival  pontififs  denounced  and  anathematized  one  another, 
either  from  Borne  or  from  Eimini,  from  Arragon  or  from 
Avignon.  However,  after  a  Jong  period  of  destruction, 
Beligion  found  a  special  remedy  for  the  increased  trans- 
gressions of  the  times.  There  was  a  mountain  of  iniquity 
to  be  removed,  for  which  it  seems  the  ordinary  means  at 
the  disposal  of  the  church  were  considered  insufficient ;  a 
more  effective  spiritual  aid  was  required,  and  Tetzel  was 
sent  forth  to  proclaim  the  potency  of  indulgences,  and  to 
offer  pardon  and  purity  by  the  simple  purchase  of  these 
restoratives.  The  man  who  swore,  or  the  man  who  stole, 
he  who  robbed,  or  he  who  cut  a  throat,  knew  the  exact 
price  which  could  free  him  from  the  taint  of  guilt ;  and  the 
sale  of  these  indulgences  was  announced  also  from  the 
altar  atPendell.* 

Then,  during  the  progress  of  the  Eeformation  what 
changes  took  place.  There  was  great  commotion  in  the 
land;  there  were  fierce  discussions,  and  nowhere  was 
Luther  more  heartily  execrated  than  here.  Soon  after, 
there  were  religious  riots  and  bloodshed,  and  in  the  hurly 
burly  which  followed,  priests  and  monks  had  to  flee  from 
this  place ;  and  pliant  pastors  took  possession ,  though  scenes 
of  the  wildest  strife  were  still  witnessed  in  the  house  of 
the  Lord.  Much  damage  was  done  to  the  building ;  the 
altar  was  pulled  down,  images  were  defaced,  and  relics 
scattered  about ;  and  when  the  voluptuous  Defender  of  the 
Faith  had  full  sway,  many  of  those  who  could  not  acknow- 
ledge his  spiritual  supremacy,  and  many  who  believed  with 
Luther,  or  who  believed  in  the  Pope,  were  by  the  merest 

*  Forninety  livres.  or  about  halt  a  guinea,  English  money,  a  par* 
don  oottld  be  puroliased  for  the  murder  of  a  father,  a  mother,  or  a 
wlfo. 


TSB  BBATHEK3  OF  THE  HEATH. 


15 


L  was  in 

dness  in 
or  years 
)St  over- 
even  the 
ty  years, 
another, 
or  from 
truction, 
}d  trans- 
iniquity 
aeans  at 
Icient;  a 
tzel  was 
3,  and  to 
of  these 
ho  stole, 
le  exact 
and  the 
rom  the 

)n  what 
n  in  the 
ere  was 
3n  after, 
le  hurly 
lee  from 
h  scenes 
lOuse  of 
ng;  the 
d  relics 
er  of  the 
icknow- 
ved  with 
merest 

)7,  a  par- 
ther,  or  a 


4 


whim  of  a  pious  tyrant,  m.ade  amenable  to  the  "  Bloody 
Statute,"  and  orthodox  and  heterodox  alike,  were  often 
led  together  to  the  stake  or  halter,  almost  under  the  shad- 
ow of  this  Christian  temple. 

During  these  eventful  times,  the  greatest  crime  of  which 
a  man  could  be  guilty,  or  at  least  that  which  was  most 
certain  to  ensure  the  penalty  of  death,  was  his  belief  or 
disbelief  in  certain  religious  doctrines.  In  one  reign  a 
man  must  abjure  the  Pope  and  the  Beal  Presence,  in  the 
next  he  must  believe  in  the  Mass  and  in  transubstantia- 
tlon,  and  the  facility  with  which  prelates,  priests,  and 
people  altered  their  opinions  on  such  subjects  to  suit  a 
fanatical  sovereign,  was  evidence  sufficient  to  lead  to  the 
conclusion  that  had  a  doltish  monarch  proclaimed  his 
faith  in  Mahomet,  five-sixths  of  his  servile  subjects  would 
have  trampled  on  the  cross  and  kissed  the  crescent.  Cran- 
mer,  the  archbishop,  was  noted  for  his  instability,  and  for 
his  ready  adoption  of  extreme  doctrinal  points;  but  the 
reasoning  few  who  dared  to  have  a  creed  of  their  own, 
were  certain  to  be  doomed — even  recantation  could  not 
always  save.  The  religious  teachers  of  the  period,  Romish 
or  Protestant,  knew  no  pity.  Intolerance  was  triumph- 
ant ;  the  taint  of  heresy  was  the  very  shadow  of  death. 
'  However,  when  another  change  in  the  national  faith  had 
been  effected ;  when,  after  many  struggles  and  reverses,  the 
new  church,  with  its  royal  head,  its  zealous  bishops,  its 
sequestered  estates,  its  princely  income,  and  its  assured 
tithes,  had  been  established ;  when  the  possession  of  rich 
cathedrals  and  churches,  and  other  Popish  forfeitures,  had 
been  secured ;  when  Popish  prayers  and  Popish  liturgies 
had  been  sufficiently  diluted ;  and  when  these,  with  a  sim- 
plified ritual,  were  considered  adequate  to  secure  for  all— 
at  least  for  the  pastors— a  ready  passport  to  Paradise,  still 
many  pious  believers  were  restless;  greater  purity  and 
simplicity  in  faith  and  worship  they  thought  should  yet 
be  attained,  and  when  texts  could  not  convince,  the  torch 
and  the  sword,  as  of  old,  were  the  aids  often  most  relied  on 
to  propagate  new  doctrines  when  other  modes  of  persua- 


Hi 


i 


li 


IG 


THE  HEATHENS  Of  THE  HEATH. 


sion  had  failed.  At  this  time  some  diflferences  of  opinion 
which  had  existed  among  priests,  monks,  and  friars  of  the 
Roman  church  were  almost  forgotten;  the  deluge  of 
schism  appalled  the  stoutest  champions  of  the  older  creed, 
and,  while  taking  refuge  in  the  Pontifical  ark,  they  watch- 
ed the  rising  waters,  until  the  mighty  turbid  flood  burst 
its  bounds,  and  in  torrents,  rushed  off  madly  in  every 
direction,  and  almost  every  way- mark  of  the  "Mother 
Church"  was  s\^pt  away,  and  there  appeared  to  them 
but  one  scene  of  wildness  and  moral  desolation. 

Soon  after  a  horde  of  sects  had  sprung  up,  eaob  claim- 
ing to  be  the  exponent  of  Truth ;  and  each  ready  to  perse- 
cute the  other.  The  Eoman  church  had  been  despotic— 
the  Eeformed  church  could  scarcely  tolerate.  Luther 
threatened  persecution ;  Calvin  did  persecute.  A  Protes- 
tant parliament  persecuted  Catholics;  and  priests  and 
Jesuits  had  to  flee  for  their  lives,  and  public  rewards  were 
offered  for  their  discovery.  Prelacy  was  attacked  by 
Presbyterians,  and  Presbyterians  by  Independents;  and 
Cromwell's  Roundheads  rushed  through  the  land  praying 
and  slaying;  and  here  at  Pendell  they  cut  down  many 
enemies  of  the  Lord.  They  also  tore  down  every  remain- 
ing relic  of  Popery  and  Episcopacy,  and,  while  wiping 
their  blood  stained  swords,  they  shouted  hosannas  and 
sung  psalms  in  this  old  sanctuary. 

But  these  wild  times  have  passed.  After  Cromwell's 
body  had  been  dug  up  and  dishonored  by  a  pious  king,  the 
Church  by  law  established,  calmly  prospered  under  the 
smile  of  royal  favor ;  and  if  it  has  had  to  deaj  occasionally 
in  a  summary  manner  with  recusants,  and  dissenting 
teachers,  it  must  no  doubt  have  been  out  of  the  purest 
motives  for  the  extension  of  the  true  faith.  The  Church 
has  had  a  long  era  of  prosperity ;  it  has  been  singularly 
blest,  that  Is  if  vast,  wealth  is  emblematic  of  blessedness— 
and  if  its  learned  bishops  have  not  all  been  endowed  with 
spiritual  gifts,  they  have,  ore  and  all,  secured  those  tem- 
poral favors  which  enable  them  to  be  more  devoted  to 
their  high  calling;  proving  to  scoffers  that  godlineas  is 


I 


THE  HEATHBNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


17 


i 


prreat  gain,  and  that  the  feet  of  those  who  bring  glad  tld- 
injjs  are  ever  "beautiful  upon  the  mountains'" 

Grey  old  structure !  still  firm  upon  the  eairth,  thou  art 
little  changed  by  years— yet  what  changes  have  taken 
place  around  thee !  What  great  and  what  sad  events  have 
happened  here ;  and  what  great  ceremonies,  great  excom- 
munications, great  marriages,  and  great  funerals  I  What 
shall  future  changes  bring?  Shall  there  be  a  gradual 
relapse  to  Brahma,  or  an  advance  to  Reason?  Thy  ton- 
sured priests  and  monks  have  passed  away;  even  their 
very  bones  have  not  been  left  thee.  No  vesper  bell  is 
longer  heard  at  eve,  no  mass  or  litany  is  sung,  but  strange 
voices  and  strange  anthems  tell  of  the  strange  creed  that 
has  almost  wrought  ruin  to  thy  founders.  There  is  an  air 
of  sadness  in  th^  presence ;  yet  many  still  hope  to  restore 
thy  lighted  altar,  and  to  crown  thee  with  thy  ancient  cross. 
These  hopes  may  be  realized,  for  who  can  tell  what  an 
ardent  faith  may  yet  accomplish  ? 

The  Pendell  valley  is  still  attractive,  and,  in  the  geftial 
summer  season,  visitors  and  antiquaries  loiter  around  the 
place,  and  gaze  with  wonder  at  the  many  huge  standing 
stones,  and  at  the  curious  mounds  and  barrows  still  to  be 
found  in  the  vicinity.  The  church,  sturdy  in  its  old  age,  is 
still  the  principal  object  in  the  rural  picture,  and  even  but 
a  short  time  back,  few  ever  came  or  went  without  calling 
at  the  cottage  of  old  Sarah  Afton,  known  to  some  as  the 
Seeress ;  she,  past  her  eightieth  year,  could  relate  many  a 
weird  tale  of  the  olden  time.  Her  great-grandfather 
was  one  of  the  Pendell  martyrs.  She  could  show  the 
places  where  bloody  deeds  were  done,  and  point  to  the 
very  spot  where  some  humble  devotee,  Catholic  or  Protes- 
tant, had  died  for  the  truth.  And  then  she  could  tell 
startling  stories  of  those  dread  times ;  she  could  also  tell 
of  how  shouts,  and  loud  cries,  and  shrieks  of  terror  of 
ghostly  combatants  could  be  heard  around  the  church  on 
dark  and  stormy  nights,  when  the  waves  lashed  the  rocks 
In  Pendell  bay ;  and  how,  on  other  nights,  lights  could  be 
often  seen,  and  voices  heard  in  the  same  building;  and  it 


I" 


18 


THE  HEATBBN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


^! 


was  a  certain  fact  that  one  or  two  of  her  nearest 
neighbors,  coming  home  about  midnight,  heard  the  cocks 
crow,  and  saw  a  long  procession  of  monlis  moving  out 
from  the  church,  and  then  march  with  solemn  tread  around 
the  graves.  And,  again,  she  would  teil  of  how  her  own 
Bister's  grandson  had  seen,  in  the  bright  moonlight,  an 
ancient  Druid  priest  up  in  the  great  oak  tree  near  the 
church  yard  gate,  and,  that,  with  his  "  own  two  eyes,"  he 
saw  him  cut,  with  a  golden  knife,  a  mistletoe  from  one  of 
the  highest  branches.  Old  Sarah  Afton  believes  these 
things  the  more  readily  because  of  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard  herself;  and  then  she  would  lower  her  voice  and 
tell  how,  on  many  and  many  a  night,  and  often  on  nights 
the  most  tempestuous,  when  no  living  mortal  was  inside 
the  old  building,  she  had  heard  the  church  organ,  now  in 
plaintive  strains,  and  then  in  wild,  rushing  sounds,  as  if  to 
drown  the  thunder  then  heard  in  the  stormy  sky. 

But  now  'tis  the  close  of  day ;  the  moon  appears  again 
peeking  cautiously  over  the  summit  of  that  distant  hill. 
The  trees  are  sprinkled  with  the  silvery  light ;  the  outlines 
of  the  san  jtuary  are  barely  visible,  but  a  halo  settles  upon 
its  tower,  and  the  shimmering  ivy,  like  a  shroud,  is  seen 
flowing  down  its  dark  sides.  A  luminous  beam  is  stretch- 
ing out  ovftr  the  sombre  sea,  and  lone  rays  wander  among 
the  graves,  and  flicker  upon  the  numerous  white  tombs. 
In  the  spreading  gleam  the  two  small  tower  windows  shine 
out  like  flashing  eyes ;  and  the  old  church,  almost  hidden 
in  the  partial  gloom,  seems  to  crouch  down  among  the 
dead,  like  some  glutted  monster  seeking  repose  while  sur- 
rounded by  the  whitened  skulls  and  bones  of  its  numerous 
victims. 


■■v£ 


■,fiv 


I 


nearest 
le  cocks 
ing  out 
around 
ler  own 
ght,  an 
tear  the 
jres,"  he 
n  one  of 
3S  these 
leen  and 
3ice  and 
n  nights 
IS  inside 
.,  now  in 
},  as  if  to 

rs  again 
;ant  hill, 
outlines 
les  upon 
is  seen 
stretch- 
among 
tombs. 
vvs  shine 
hidden 
ong  the 
hile  sur- 
imerous 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE    CURATE  OF   PENDELL. 


TT  is  evening  again,  a  summer  Sabbath  eve.  The  hills 
-*-  are  crowned  with  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun,  and  in 
the  ruddy  golden  light  the  earth  seems  draped  in  its  most 
resplendent  attire ;  the  day's  farewell  is  as  peaceful  and 
attrnotive  as  the  smile  of  a  departing  angel. 

The  Reverend  David  Meade,  curate  at  Pendell^  Is  seated 
in  his  arm  chair  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  old  parsonage. 
Though  surrounded  by  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  favor- 
ed valley,  he  seems  strangely  indifferent  to  its  attractions, 
or  they  may  have  produced  that  reverie  in  which  he  indul- 
ges. Leaning  his  head  upon  his  ivory-headed  cane,  he 
has  been  looking  doVvn  for  some  minutes  at  that  daisy 
close  to  his  foot,  and  in  his  musing  he  has  wandered  back 
to  youth,  has  been  a  child  again  at  his  mother's  knee,  has 
been  again  at  school,  at  college,  at  his  ordination;  he 
again  neceives  his  appointment  to  a  curacy,  and,  after  his 
marriage  and  the  varied  scenes  and  trials  of  over  forty 
years  since  that  event,  he  finds  himself,  after  the  hasty 
retrospect,  now,  in  the  decline  of  life,  still  a  curate— still 
only  a  poor  curate  at  Pendell. 

But  why  at  all  a  churchman?  Why  in  orders,— why  a 
priest?  Why,  with  all  his  doubts  and  speculations,  should 
he  be  a  curate?  His  father  had  been  one  before  him,  and 
he,  like  a  son  of  Aaron,  without  any  wish  or  effort  on  his 
part,  had  somehow  drifted  into  the  ministry— fnto  a  posi- 
tion which  his  mature  judgment  had  told  him  was  most 


20 


THE  HKATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


*    i 


unsuitable ;  but  after  apostolic  hands  had  been  laid  upon 
him,  thinking  it  too  late  to  recede,  he^even  contrary  to 
his  own  inclination,  had  remained  a  servant  of  the  Church, 
and  had  ever  since  been  trying  to  teach  or  explain  to 
others  that  which  he  sometimes  felt  he  did  not  clearly  un- 
derstand himself.  Still,  at  times  he  tried  to  feel  assured. 
Had  he  not  encouragement  to  submissive  belief  in  the 
example  of  learned  prelates  and  of  other  distinguished 
men?  He  strove  to  think  that  the  theological  opinions 
which  they  had  upheld  might  not  be  so  extravagant  as  he 
sometimes  fancied.  Any  way,  setting  aside  the  mysticism 
of  a  creed,  he  often  satisfied  himself  by  thinking  that 
there  was  a  base  of  morality  in  revelation  from  which  he 
could  draw  supplies  to  benefit  his  hearers;  leaving  the 
many  perplexities  of  belief  to  semi-inspired  D.  D.s,  and 
imaginative  commentators.  He  had  little  difficulty,  how- 
ever, with  his  parishioners  at  Pendell ;  nearly  all  there, 
simple  and  gentle,  were  believers ;  hardly  one  among  them 
ever  harbored  a  doubt,  or  ventured  a  speculation  as  to  the 
validity  of  any  doctrine;  they,  like  most  others,  simply 
believed  that  which  they  had  been  trained  to  believe  from 
infancy ;  and  they  were,  therefore,  just  as  steadfast  in  the 
conviction  that  the  Pope  was  anti-Christ,  as  their  Catholic 
forefathers  had  been  that  he  was  the  august  head  of  the 
true  Church. 

The  Reverend  David  Meade  had  been  curate  of  Pendell 
for  over  thirty  years.  He  was  now,  fortunately  for  him- 
self, under  a  rector  wh<^,  having  the  benefit  of  a  large 
income  arising,  somehow,  from  other  spiritual  sources,  as 
well  as  from  the  cure  of  souls  at  Pendell,  spent  much  of 
his  time  either  in  London  or  Paris,  or  on  a  periodical  tour 
to  certain  continental  cities.  Perhaps  these  visits  might 
have  been  made  by  the  Reverend  Rector  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  greater  religious  knowledge,  or  in  order  to  witness 
the  various  developments  of  faith  in  different  countries, 
so  as  to  be  able,  if  possible,  to  understand  why  that  which 
was  called  "Apostolic*  Truth,"  and  which  had  obtained 
governmeur  patronage  at  St.  Paul's  in  Old  England,  should 


i! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA.TR. 


21 


aid  upon 
itrary  to 
;  Church, 
Lplain  to 
early  un- 
assured. 
it  in  the 
Qguished 
opinions 
3.nt  as  he 
lysticism 
:ing  that 
vhich  he 
ving  the 
D.s,  and 
Ity,  how- 
,11  there, 
)ng  them 
las  to  the 

simply 
Bve  from 

in  the 
Catholio 
,d  of  the 

Pendell 

'or  him- 

a  large 

irces,  as 

much  of 

cal  tour 

s  might 

acquisi- 

witness 

untries, 

t  which 

btained 

should 


I 


I 


b>=»  denounced  as  rank  error,  and  anathematized  as  heresy 
at  St.  Peter's  in  Old  Rome.  And  then  in  the  semi-annual 
visit  which  he  made  to  Pendell,  he  could  enlighten  his 
curate  in  this  important  particular;  and  though  rather 
indifferent  as  to  what  latitude  might  be  taken  in  scriptural 
interpretation,  he  could  see  that  the  thirty-nine  articles  of 
the  English  Church,  had  been,  at  least,  outwardly  respect- 
ed. The  Reverend  George  Morton,  as  rector,  was  faithful 
in  what  he  considered  the  performance  of  his  parochial 
duties;  his  semi-annual  visits  were  regularly  paid,  he 
seemed  anxious  to  know  how  many,  young  or  old,  were 
prepared  for  the  important  rite  of  confirmation,  was  par- 
ticular to  get  correct  lists  of  marriages,  baptisms,  and  bur- 
ials, for  which  a  fee  had  been  given,  and  was  rather  strict  as 
to  the  collection  of  tithes  and  church  rates ;  and  for  these 
onerous  duties  at  Pendell,  or  rather  for  these  toilsome 
semi-annual  visits,  his  spiritual  income  was  over  £800 
sterling.  But  all  this  was  not  clear  gain;  from  this 
amount  the  salary  of  his  curate  had  to  be  deducted,  and 
he  fancied  himself  truly  generous  by  consenting  to  increase 
the  stipend  of  'Mr.  Meade,  his  journeyman  parson,  to  £60  a 
year. 

For  a  period  of  about  fifteen  years  under  a  former  rich 
rector,  who  had,  it  was  said,  "  gone  to  his  great  reward," 
Mr.  Meade,  as  curate,  had  received  the  annual  allowance 
of  but  fifty  pounds,  and  being  simple  as  a  child  in  money 
matters^  he  really  thought  at  the  time,  that  the  additional 
ten  pounds,  with  free  use  of  the  old  parsonage,  was  almost 
a  sudden  rise  to  affluence.  He  therefore  gladly  consented 
to  remain  as  sub-pastor  and  spiritual  overseer  of  the  Chris- 
tian flock  at  Pendell,  and  to  perform  his  old  round  of 
duties— to  preach  twice  on  Sundays,  to  visit,  to  catechise, 
to  marry,  to  baptize,  to  attend  funerals,  and  to  do  all  the 
clerical  drudgery  of  the  parish ;  and  after  having  signed 
the  agreement  with  his  new  spiritual  superior,  he  hurried 
home  to  impart  the  joyful  information  to  his  family ;  and 
then  went  to  receive  the  congratulations  of  his  many  poor 
friends. 


IL" 


n 


TBB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATS. 


About  three  years  after  his  last  appointment,  Mr.  Bfeode 
lost  his  faithful  wife ;  this  affliction  at  his  age  became  the 
darkest  cloud  over  his  remaining  hopes  of  earthly  happi- 
ness,  but  a  daughter  was  left  him— a  flower  of  purity  and 
goodness— who  strove  to  make  his  declining  years  as  hup- 
py  as  possible.  He  had  also  a  son  in  India.  This  young 
man,  Charles  Meade,  who  was  about  two  years  older  than 
his  sister,  had  been  rated  one  of  the  most  promising  young 
fellows  in  the  country,  and  being  of  an  adventurous  dispo- 
sition, he  determined,  after  he  had  left  college,  to  see  the 
world  for  himself,  and  try  to  assist  his  father.  Had  he 
submitted  to  ordination  as  his  father  had  done,  he  could 
have  remained  in  England,  and  might  have  had  a  curacy, 
and  perhaps  even  forty  pounds  a  year  to  begin  with,  but 
having  the  greatest  aversion  to  the  priestly  trade,  ho 
refused  to  eke  out  a  living  by  dealing  in  mysteries,  or  by 
assuming  clerical  pretensions.  He  might  have  had  sufll- 
cient  influence  to  obtain  a  position  in  the  army,  but  ho 
looked  upon  the  profession  of  arms  as  barbarism,  and  upon 
so-called  military  glory  as  degrading  to  humanity;  a  situa- 
tion, however,  offered  in  a  wealthy  mercantile  firm,  and 
with  strong  hopes  of  success  he  sailed  for  India. 

During  nearly  all  his  married  life,  the  Reverend  David 
Meade  had  to  struggle  with  difficulties,  and  while  it 
pinched  him  sorely  to  spare  sufficient  to  pay  for  the  educa- 
tion of  his  children,  by  great  self-denial  he  even  managed 
to  secure  for  them  accomplishments  which  few  but  the 
wealthy  could  obtain.  These  efforts  and  sacrifices  on  the 
part  of  himself  and  his  wife  now  brought  some  return. 
His  household  was  small,  being  comprised  of  himself,  his 
daughter,  and  one  old  servant.  Miss  Esther  Meade  was 
chief  controller  of  domestic  affairs,  and  by  her  economy 
and  wonderful  management,  the  humble  stipend  of  her 
father  was  made  to  produce  home  comforts  not  exceeded 
in  many  more  pretentious  establishments.  She  was  also 
able  to  spare  sufficient  time  to  give  lessons  in  music, 
French,  and  drawing,  to  the  children  of  certain  families  in 
the  parish,  thereby  adding  to  her  father's  little  income  an 


A 


■■X 

I 

.  >*■■ 
^1 


THE  HE/kTHENB  OW  THE  HBATB. 


S3 


r.  Meade 
came  the 
ly  happl- 
iirlty  and 
s  as  hup- 
lis  younpT 
Ider  than 
ng  young 
)U3  dlspo- 
bo  see  the 
Had  he 
he  could 
a  curacy, 
with,  but 
trade,  he 
rles,  or  by 
had  sufll- 
y,  but  ho 
and  upon 
a  situa- 
flrm,  and 

|nd  David 
while  it 
[he  educa- 
managed 
but  the 
les  on  the 
Le  return, 
iself ,  his 
^eade  was 
economy 
id  of  her 
exceeded 
was  also 
in  music, 
bmilies  in 
icome  an 


amount  which  not  only  enabled  her  to  supply  several 
neoUs— even  at  times  luxuries— for  her  father  and  herself, 
but  also  to  aid  many  of  the  poor  and  destitute  of  her  own 
neighborhood. 

What  a  pity  that  poverty  and  human  wretchedness 
should  so  often  be  found  amid  the  attractive  beauties  of 
nature,  making  even  the  sunllghi  almost  gloomy  to  many  t 
What  a  i)itv  that  the  human  eye  should  over  give  a  dew  drop 
to  the  flower,  or  ^hat  the  sigh  from  a  sad  heart  should  waft 
the  odor  from  the  rose !  What  a  pity  thot  the  view  of  the 
rich  scenery  of  the  pleasant  Pendell  valley  should  bo 
looked  at  with  indifference,  because  gaunt  hunger  stands 
like  tt  spectre  in  the  way.  Alas  I  that  sad  spectre  is  too 
often  seen,  even  .\  the  glowing  summer  time,  as  if  impa- 
tiently waiting  fo^  its  own  black  season,  dreary  Winter,  in 
order  to  take  possession  of  many  an  humble  dwelling. 

The  curate,  after  his  Sabbath  toil,  was  thinking  of  these 
things,  and  he  remembered  the  many  uncomplaining  poor 
he  had  seen  that  day  in  his  visits.  But  why,  thought  he, 
should  there  be  poverty  ?  why  so  much  distress  ?  Why,  in 
this  land  of  wealth  and  greatness,  should  there  be  one 
solitary  Instance  of  suffering  for  lack  of  food  ?  The  birds 
of  the  air,  and  the  fishes  of  the  sea,  have  their  abundance; 
the  mountain  goat  finds  its  herbage  even  mid  rocks  and 
wastes ;  fiocks  luxuriate  in  rich  valleys,  and  the  cattle  o» 
a  thousand  hills  grow  fat.  Why  is  it  that  man  alone,  more 
than  any  other  of  God's  creatures,  should  be  compelled  to 
feci  the  pangs  of  hunger  ?  What  a  shame  that  humanity 
should  be  thus  degraded!  The  world  contains  ample 
stores  for  all ;  kind  nature,  willing  to  be  impartial,  is  lav- 
ish in  her  dealings,  and  yields  her  gifts  in  rich  profusion ; 
but  the  fair  and  equitable  distribution  which  she  intended 
is  interfered  with  by  too  many  of  the  selfish  and  rapacious, 
and  unheeded  by  too  many  of  the  wealthy  in  powjer.  This 
is  a  violation  of  natural  rights ;  for  where  all  the  children 
of  the  earth  are  equal  inheritors,  unequal  distribution  of 
the  patrimony  is  injustice.  A  few,  by  force  or  by  fraud,  or 
by  little  or  no  industry,  have  amassed  wealth,  and  possess 


'ff^ 


24 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


a  superabundance  of  every  comfort ;  the  many  have  mostly 
to  exist  by  severe  toil,  and  suffer  great  deprivation.  A.  few 
monopolize  the  ownership  of  the  very  land,  keeping  large 
tracts  unproductive ;  while  a  vast  number  of  persons  can 
show  no  claim— unless  it  be  that  for  interment— to  a  single 
foot  of  the  soil  of  their  native  country.  This  is  a  palpable 
outrage  on  natural  rights.  British  law,  like  the  laws  of 
almost  every  other  Ohristian  land,  still  defends  this 
monopoly,  and  offers,  as  yet,  no  true  remedy,  no  just  res- 
toration, for  the  evictions  and  usurpations  of  past  days,  as 
if  time  had  already  legalized  ancient  acts  of  robbery  and 
spoliation ;  and  while  Beligion  stands  by  and  smiles  with 
satisfaction  at  the  present  social  arrangement,  the  nation- 
al Church,  supported  by  plunder,  will  make  no  effort  at 
reform  in  thin  particular,  but  contented  with  its  earthly 
honors  and  emoluments,  it  assumes  a  proud  humility,  and 
bids  its  destitute  adherents  be  submissive  to  the  decrees 
of  Providence,  and  to  the  powers  that  be ;  and  then,  by  its 
own  course,  it  glaringly  exhibits  a  sad  example  of  partiality 
and  injustice  in  the  treatment  of  its  own  clergy.  The 
truly  faithful  pastors  whose  duties  are  the  most  arduous, 
receive  as  the  reward  of  their  labor  scarcely  sufficient  for 
their  humble  support,  while  drones,  called  "  church  digni- 
faries,"  are  glutted  with  favors,  and  live  in  luxury. 

These  views  strongly  impressed  the  curate  at  the  time ; 
he  had  long  felt  that  religion  had  become  the  trade  of 
many  unscrupulous  men,  who,  when  clothed  in  its  garb, 
and  uttering  its  prayer,  had  acted  as  if  their  profession- 
called  sacred— had  authorized  them  to  ignore  every  prin- 
ciple of  right.  He  knew  that  clerical  arrogance  and 
assumption.  Pagan  and  Mohammedan,  as  well  as  Chris- 
tian, had  circumscribed  progTess  and  stifled  many  of  the 
most  generous  impulses,  and  at  the  moment  his  memory 
retraced  many  instances  of  their  folly. 

Wheri  Manetho,  the  Egyptian  priest  and  historian,  was 
unable  to  believe  that  man  alone  could  possibly  have 
erected  the  vast  pyramids,  obelisks,  colossal  statues,  and 
temples  of  the  Nile,  he  insisted  in  his  writings  that  these 


i' 


THE  HEATnETJS  OF  THE  HEA.TH. 


SB 


ve  mostly 
n.    A.  few 
>ing  large 
rsons  can 
;o  a  single 
b  palpable 
le  laws  of 
Biids  this 
I  just  res- 
it days,  as 
bbery  and 
niles  with 
le  nation- 
o  efifort  at 
bs  earthly 
aility,  and 
le  decrees 
len,  by  its 
partiality 
gy.    The 
arduous, 
ficient  for 
rchdigni- 

y. 

the  time ; 
trade  of 
its  garb, 
)fession— 
ery  prin- 
,nce  and 
as  Chris- 
lyof  the 
memory 

ian,  was 
)ly  have 
hues,  and 
Lat  these 


I  amazing  structures  had  been  erected  by  a  dynasty  of  gods 
^who  had  been  the  original  rulers  of  Egypt  for  about 
Itwenty-flve  thousand   years,  before  human  beings  had 
become  their  successors. 

When  the  Caliph  Al  Mamun,  the  cotemporary  of  Char- 
leniaj?ne,  received,  with  distinction,  at  his  Court  at  Bagdad, 
foreign  astronomers  and  learned  men,  he  encountered 
much  opposition  from  the  Mohammedan  priests,  who  did 
hot  wish  that  faithful  Moslems  should  ever  seek  for  sci- 
ence or  wisdom  beyond  that  contained  in  tho  Koran. 

When  Omar,  surnamed  El  Aalem,  or  the  learned,  wrote 
a  geological  work  on  the  retreat  of  the  sea,  the  same  priests 
declared  that  his  system  was  Contradictory  to  certain  pas- 
usages  in  the  inspired  Koran ;  he  was,  therefore,  called 
upon  to  make  a  public  recantation  of  his  supposed  error, 
ntii  to  avoid  persecution,  he  left  Samarakand. 
i  After  Copernicus  had  written  his  great  work,  De  RevoJn- 
tvmlbiis  Orbium  Coelestium,  proving  the  sun  to  be  the 
^centre  of  our  system,  so  opposed  were  the  priests  of  his 
'time  to  new  oi)inions,  that  he  hid  his  manuscript  for. over 
twelve  years,  lest  its  publication  should  insure  an  anath- 
-3  ma. 

Learned  Jesuit    fathers  of  the  Christian  Church,  so 

intimidated  Galileo  by  threats  and  imprisonment,  that  he 

vjiiade  a  degrading  abjuration  cf  what  he  had  written  In 

^avor  of  the  Copernican  system ;  his  works  were  then  said 

to  be  in  opposition  to  the  express  word  of  God,  and  his 

['Dialogues"  were  larnt  at  Rome.     Yet  though  seven 

irdinals  signed  the  sentence  of  the  Inquisition  against 

Galileo,  and  though  even  Luther  joined  in  the  outcry 

igainst  the  correct  theory  of  planetary  revolution,  still 

Ihat  theory  is  now  accepted  by  science,  and  the  name  of 

ilalileo  is  honored  by  all ! 

As  soon  as  Bufifon  had  published  his  "  Natural  History," 

?hich  included  his  "  Theory  of  the  Earth,"  he  was  officially 

Jnformed  by  the  Faculty  of  Theology  in  Paris,  :iiat  several 

>f  his  propositions  "were  reprehensible  and  contrary  to 

le  creed  of  the  Church ; "  and  Buflfon,  too,  was  compelled 


26 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


to  humbly  declare,  that  he  had  uo  intention  to  contradict 
scripture,  and  that  he  would  abandon  everything  he  had 
written  which  might  be  considered  contrary  to  the  law  of 
Moses. 

Newton's  theory  of  gravitation  was  at  first  strongly 
opposed ;  he  was  accused  of  skepticism,  and  certain  of  the 
pious,  who  declaimed  againstJiuman  learning,  maintained 
that  "  the  Hebrew  Scriptirres,  when  rightly  translated,, 
comprised   a  perfect   system    of    natural   philosoph>.'* 

Priests  had  also  assumed  to  dictate  to  science,  and  had, 
time  after  time,  foolishly  protested  against  the  opinions 
and  discoveries  of.  enlightened  investigating  and  ingen- 
ious men.  Discovery  and  invention  seem  to  have  toceni 
too  often  looked  upon  by  the  Church  as  twin  children  ot 
the  Evil  One.* 

Geographical,  as  well  as  astronomical  and  geological 
knowledge  or  discovery,  was  promptly  opposed  or  discred- 
ited whenever  it  came  in  conflict  with  the  crude  clerical 
notions  of  the  age.f 

When  the  enlightened  Bavarian  Bishop  Virgil,  before 
the  ninth  century,  asserted  the  existence  of  the  Antipodes, 
Pope  Zachary,  who  was  scandalized  at  the  idea,  sent. 
orders  to  his  legate,  "  to  strip  him  of  his  priesthood,  and 
drive  him  from  the  Church  and  altars  of  God." 

Roger  Bacon,  the  ingenious  Franciscian  Friar,  who  was. 


i 


*  Eeelesiastloal  architedure,  statuary  or  painting— any  effort 
which  couid  add  to  the  material  splendor  of  the  Church— might  hn 
indulged;  but  were  a  vigorous  inventive  mind  inclined  to  go  much 
further,  suspicion  was  easily  aroused,  and  the  spectre  of  a  Dominican 
pointing  to  the  Inquisition,  too  often  restrained  the  aspirations  of 
genius.  Darwin  says ;  "  During  the  same  period,  the  Holy  Inquisi- 
tion selected,  with  extreme  care,  the  freest  and  boldest  men  in  order 
to  burn  and  imprison  them.  In  Spain  alone,  some  of  the  best  men, 
those  who  doubted  and  questioned— and  without  doubting  and  ques- 
tioning there  can  be  no  progress- were  eliminated  during  three  cen- 
turies a'  the  rate  of  athousandayear."    (Descent  of  Man  Vol.  l,p.  171.) 

t  A  curious  clerical  theory,  as  to  the  causes  of  the  revolution  of  the 
earth,  is  that  given  by  the  lie  v.  Father  Hardouin.  He  believed  that 
the  rotation  of  the  earth  was  caused  by  lost  souls  trying  to  escape 
from  the  central  fire  of  our  globe;  that  by  their  climbing  on  the  inner 
crust  of  the  earth,  which  he  asserted  was  the  wall  of  hell,  the  world 
was  made  to  revolve,  as  a  squirrel,  by  climbing,  turns  a  caga  i , 


.'i-i 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


27 


i  strongly 
tain  of  the 
aaintained 
iranslated^ 
Llosoph>.'* 
),  and  had, 
e  opinions 
md  ingen- 
have  Ibeem 
3hikiren  oE 


gil,  before 

Antipodes^ 

idea,  sent, 

lood,  andl 


—any  effort 
1— might  be 
to  go  much 
Dominican 
pirations  of 
oly  Inquisi- 
en  in  order 
le  best  men, 
g  and  ques- 
ig  three  cen- 
V^ol.l.p.171.) 

ution  of  the 
elieved  tliat 
gto  escape 
on  the  inner 
1,  the  world 
lacBi. 


called  by  his  admiieis  the  "  Doctor  Mirabilis ;"  who  dared 
to  reprove  the  immoral  monks  and  clergy  of  his  time ;  who 
ventured  to  explore  the  secrets  of  nature;  who  was  an 
astronomer,  and  who,  it  is  said,  invented  spectacles,  and 
made  useful  suggestions  respecting  the  telescope  and  the 
microscope,  and  who  made  many  valuable  scientific  dis- 
coveries ;  this  worthy  man  was  harrassed  by  clerical  igno- 
rance and  jealousy;  he  was  accused  of  being  in  league 
with  the  devil,  of  having  sold  himself  to  satan ;  his  dis- 
coveries were  pronounced  to  be  the  result  of  "  hellish 
magic;  "  his  great  work,  the  Opus  MaJHi<,  was  condemned, 
and,  by  order  of  Pope  Nicholas  III.,  he  was  forbidden 
to  teach.  After  useless  appeals,  he  was  thrust  into  prison 
in  his  old  age,  and  was  greatly  worn  and  enfeebled  by  an 
incarceration  of  ten  years.  Soon  after,  when  on  his  death- 
bed, he  uttered  these  melancholy  words  :  "  I  repent,  now, 
that  I  have  given  myself  so  much  trouble  for  the  love  of 
science.  It  is  on  account  of  the  ignorance  of  those  with 
whom  I  have  to  deal,  that  I  ha.ve  not  been  able  to  accom- 
plish more." 

The  establishment  of  the  Royal  Society  of  England,  was 
opposed  because  it  was  feared  that  discoveries  in  experi- 
mental philosophy  "  might  be  subversive  of  the  Christian 
faith;"  the  telescope  and  the  microscope  were  called 
"Atheistical  inventions." 

Dr.  Jenner  was  denounced  for  his  discovery  of  vaccina- 
tion, and  the  pulpit  proclaimed  the  operation  as  "  diaUoli- 
cal— a  tempting  of  God's  providence,  and  therefore  a 
heinous  crime."  Harvey's  discovery  of  the  circulation  of 
blood  was  scoffed  at  by  priests,  and  even  by  many  physi- 
cians, for  many  years. 

Dr.  Franklin  was  charged  with  sacrilege  for  his  temerity 
with  lightning,  and  lightning-rods  were  condemned  as 
"  threatening  the  will  of  an  angry  God."  *  Men  who  first 
I)roposed  to  connect  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceans,  were 

•  Almost  every  church  at  the  present  day  has  Its  lightning-rod; 
ministers  now  seem  to  thinlc  that  it  is  perhaps  more  efHcacio'us  than 
pray  r  for  the  preservation  of  the  "  house  of  Gud." 


r 


28 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ill 


told  "  to  fear  the  vengeance  of  Heaven,  for  attempting  to 
improve  that  which  the  Creator,  in  his  almighty  will  and 
Providence,  has  ordained  from  the  creation  of  the  world." 
Russian  priests  considered  the  project  of  Peter  the  Great, 
to  cut  a  canal  between  the  Volga  and  the  Don,  as  "  great 
impiety." 

The  proposal  to  make  a  ce^J;ain  river  in  Portugal  navi- 
gable to  the  Tagus,  was  forbidden,  because  the  Portugese 
clergy  asserted  that,  if  it  had  been  the  will  of  God  that 
the  river  should  be  navigable,  he  would  have  made  it  so ; 
and  when  Brindley,  the  great  engineer,  appeared  before 
a  parliamentary  committee  in  England,  to  urge  a  petition 
favoring  the  construction  of  canals,  he  was  asked  by  one 
of  the  pious  members :  "  Pray,  sir,  what  do  you  suppose 
God  made  rivers  for?"  and  though  he  calmly  replied: 
"To  feed  canals,"  yet  the  petition  was  rejected  because 
the  Church  at  that  day  did  not  encourage  such  projects ; 
even  printing  was  looked  upon  as  a  hostile  discovery. 

How  strange  that  clerical  obstinacy  should  have  retard- 
ed the  progress  of  astronomy,  geology,  philosophy,  and 
of  almost  every  other  moral  and  physical  science;  it  is 
well  known  that  the  self-sufficiency  of  a  majority  of  the 
most  influential  ministers  has  been  a  hiaderance  to  social 
and  political  advancement;  even  in  petty  matters  their 
interference  has  been  most  absurd.  Not  many  years  ago, 
persons  who  attempted  to  winnow  corn  by  mechanical 
means  were  refused  communion,  while  others  were  reprov- 
ed for  using  forks  instead  of  fingers  in  the  use  of  food; 
and  in  our  own  day  "  life  assurance  "  has  been  neglected 
by  many  because  it  "  argues  a  distrust  in  Providence." 

A  distinguished  writer,  reflecting  on  clerical  arrogance 
and  dictation  in  relation  to  scientific  matters,  says : 

"  Who  shall  number  the  patient  and  earnest  seekers 
after  truth,  from  the  days  of  Galileo  until  now,  whose 
lives  have  been  embittered  and  their  good  name  blasted 
by  the  mistaken  zeal  of  bibliolaters?  Who  shall  count 
the  hosts  of  weaker  men,  whose  sens©  of  truth  has  been 
destroyed  in  the  effort  to  harmonize  impossibilities— whose 


I.- 


)wt  :ji*K:-.. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


29 


ptlng  to 
will  and 
world." 
e  Great, 
;  *'  great 

gal  navl- 
orlugese 
3tod  that 
Ae  It  so ; 
id  before 
k  petition 
d  by  one 
suppose 
replied: 
I  because 
projects ; 
very. 
ve  retard- 
)phy,  and 
ice;  it  is 
ity  of  the 
to  social 
ers  their 
ears  ago, 
[echanical 
[•e  roprov- 
of  food; 
eglected 
ince." 
.rroganco 

s: 

\t  seekers 

>w,  whose 

|e  blasted 

all  count 

has  been 

8— whose 


life  has  been  wasted  in  the  attempt  to  force  the  generous 
new  wine  of  science  Into  the  old  bottles  of  Judaism,  com- 
pelled by  the  outcry  of  the  same  strong  party?  It  is 
true,  that  if  philosophers  have  suffered,  their  cause  has 
been  amply  avenged.  Extinguished  theologians  lie  about 
the  cradle  of  every  science  as  the  strangled  snake  beside 
that  of  Hercules;  and  history  records  that,  whenever 
seientie  and  orthodoxy  have  been  fairly  opposed,  the  latter 
has  been  forced  to  retire  from  the  lists,  bleeding  and 
crushed,  if  not  annihilated— scotched,  if  not  slain.  Bui 
ortboc'oxy  is  the  Bourbon  of  the  world  of  thought.  It 
learns  not,  neither  can  it  forget ;  and  though  at  present 
bewildered  and  afraid  to  move,  it  is  as  willing  as  ever  to 
insist  that  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  contains  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  sound  science,  and  to  visit  with 
such  petty  thunderbolts,  as  its  half  paralyzed  hands  can 
hurl,  those  who  refuse  to  degrade  nature  to  the  level  of 
primitive  Judaism."    (Huxley,  Lay  Sermons,  p.  278.) 

And  another — 

"  For  more  than  three  centuries  the  decadence  of  the- 
ological influence  has  been  one  of  the  most  invariable 
signs  and  measures  of  our  progress.  In  medicine,  physi- 
cal science,  commercial  interests,  politics,  and  even  ethics, 
the  reformer  has  been  confronted  with  theological  affir- 
mations that  have  barred  his  way,  which  were  all  defended 
as  of  vital  importance,  and  were  all  compelled  to  yield 
before  the  secularizing  influence  of  civilization."  (Lecky, 
History  of  Morals,  Vol.  2,  p.  18.) 

Such  ipstances  of  interference  the  curate  knew  had 
been  recorded  as  facts  against  pastors  of  the  Christian 
Church;  and  he  also  knew  that,  under  the  influence  of 
religion  and  nationality,  influences  which  very  many 
still  deem  most  sacred,  the  most  terrible  woes  had  fallen 
upon  the  human  family.  What  sufferings,  he  thought,  have 
been  endured  by  mankind  because  of  their  adhesion  to 
those  cherished  ideas!  What  enormities  have  followed 
the  so-called  propagation  of  the  new  faith !  Christianity 
claims  to  be  a  religion  of  peace,  yet,  what  bitter  discus- 


f 


r 


30 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


sion,  what  fierce  strife,  and  what  sanguinary  contests  have 
followed  its  footsteps.  The  early  enemies  of  our  faith  had 
marked  the  progress  of  the  Church  from  an  humble 
beginning,  to  wealth  and  power,  culminating  in  tyranny 
and  persecution.  It  had  scarcely  escaped  from  the  bloody 
rule  of  a  Nero  or  a  Diocletian  ere  it  rushed  out  from  its 
gloomy  hiding  place  in  the  Catacombs,  greedy  itself  for 
blood ;  and  history  has  borne  sad  evidence  oi  the  atrocities 
of  its  adherents.  The  Christian  Church  had  barely  emerg- 
ed from  its  cloud  of  obscurity,  and  gained  recognition  by 
the  government  of  the  period,  ere  it  snatched  the  sword 
and  persecuted  its  pagan  predecessors;  and  then  there 
followed  contention  and  disunion  among  its  own  uphold- 
ers. It  encouraged  the  wild  crusades ;  it  established  the 
Inquisition  in  Spain,  and  had  its  Star  Chamber  in  Eng- 
land. It  gave  a  medal  in  commemoration  of  the  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew ;  and  conferred  rank  upon  those  who 
slaughtered  Papists  in  Ireland.  In  Eome  it  was  a  fury,  in 
England  a  despot,  in  almost  every  nation  under  its  sway,  a 
fierce,  vindictive  tyrant.  It  fias  ever  claimed  to  be  the  spirit 
of  order,  progress  and  intelligence,  yet  strange  to  learn, 
the  long  period— the  centuries  of  its  most  unlimited  con- 
trol— a  period  of  moral  and  intellectual  degeneracy— is 
known  to  all  as  the  "dark  ages. "  Before,  as  well  as  after  the 
Eeformation,  the  Church  was  implacable  against  unlimit- 
ed freedom  of  thought,  and  even  now,  in  more  enlightened 
times,  should  Keason  offer  the  most  humble  suggestion, 
contradictory  to  the  mysteries  of  Faith,  a  host  of  its 
ordained  exponents  will  consign  Keason  to  infamy ;  as  if 
truth  in  any  form  could  be  eclipsed  by  doubt,  or  overcome 
by  argument.  Why  should  this  be  ?  Why  is  it  that  creeds 
tend  to  make  priests  arrogant,  and  men  servile ;  and  why 
should  ideas  of  intolerance  and  persecution  relate  almost 
solely  to  religious  or  speculative  belief  ?  The  Church  as- 
sumes to  teach  humility,  yet  it  is  ever  eager  for  power ;  it 
deiiounces  worldliness,  though  insatiable  for  wealth;  it 
preaches  peace,  while  being,  perhaps,  the  active  and  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  most  desperate  wars— its  inconsistencies 


J 
'€ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


31 


Dntests  have 
ur  faith  liad 
an   humble 
in  tyranny 
fi  the  bloody 
out  from  its 
dy  itself  for 
he  atrocities 
arely  emerg- 
cognition  by 
id  the  sAVord 
[  then  there 
own  uphold- 
ablished  the 
iber  in  Eng- 
the  massacre 
)n  those  who 
vas  a  fury,  in 
er  its  sway,  a 
)  be  the  spirit 
ge  to  learn, 
limited  con- 
igeneracy— is 
111  as  after  the 
inst  unlimit- 
enlightened 
suggestion, 
host  of  its 
nfamy ;  as  it 
or  overcome 
t  that  creeds 
le ;  and  why 
lelate  almost 
Church  as- 
!or  power ;  it 
r  wealth;  it 
ve  and  prin- 
sonsistencies 


are  innumerable.  This  was  the  curate's  train  of  thought 
at  the  time,  and  though  he  had  often  had  his  own  peculiar 
doubts,  and  fancied  he  had  discovered  many  discrepancies 
in  word  and  in  doctrine,  yet  he  would  try  to  reconcile  all ; 
he  would  even  plead  with  himself  for  the  Church.  In  his 
darkest  hours  he  had  often  been  solaced  by  the  teachings 
of  immortality  and  future  bliss.  There  might  be  errors 
in  its  doctrine,  discrepancies  in  its  scriptures,  and  useless 
formality  in  its  ritual ;  but  after  all  there  was  something 
ennobling  4n  its  example;  something  sterling  in  its  pre- 
cepts ;  something  tender  and  beautiful  in  its  solemn  pray- 
ers and  liturgies;  and  something  estatic  and  divine  in  its 
promises  of  reward.  It  had  been  the  gate  of  Heaven  to 
many  a  poor  humble  soul  who  had  found  the  world  unkind, 
and  to  a  host  of  the  simple  and  unlearned  it  had  smoothed 
the  passage  to  the  grave. 

But  then,  again,  thought  he  in  his  wavering,  why  have 
so  many  of  the  educated  and  intelligent  grown  so  indiffer- 
ent to  religion  ?  Why  is  skepticism  on  the  increase,  boldly 
challenging  discussion?  Alas!  the  curate  felt  that  he 
himself  had  too  often  wavered  in  his  faith,  that  his  belief 
was  uncertain,  that  he  had  passed  years  in  irresolution, 
regretting  that  he  had  ever  entered  the  Church  as  a  pastor, 
and  that  he  had  often  and  often  wished  and  prayed  for  a 
means  of  living  more  in  accord  with  his  own  ideas  of  use- 
fulness. He  looked  back  upon  those  years  as  a  bleak 
period  of  doubt  and  perplexity,  and  he  fancied  that  had  he 
been  placed  in  a  different  position  he  might  have  had  a 
larger  field  for  liberty  of  thought  and  action;  but  like 
Prometheus  he  had  been  chained  to  a  rock— he  had  been 
bound  to  a  creed,  and  dared  not  openly  speculate  be- 
yond it. 

As  he  thus  sat  thinking,  there  was  an  expression  of  sad- 
ness upon  his  intellectual  face,  and  his  mild  grey  eye  still 
rested  upon  the  green  sward.  He  looked  up,  the  sunlight 
had  departed,  and  the  solemn  gloom  of  night  was  soon  to 
rest  upon  the  old  church  tower ;  he  felt  that  the  evening 
of  his  own  life  would  soon  draw  to  a  close.    And  now  came 


If 


w 


da 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  great  regret,  that  for  want  of  determination,  for  the 
want  of  that  true  courage  which  the  genuine  in  nobility 
,and  lieroism  alone  possess,  his  efforts  in  the  cause  of  pro- 
gress had  been  sadly  circumscribed.  Though  still  in 
comparative  health  and  vigor,  the  grey  hairs  of  age  had 
come,  and  he  soon  might  have  its  palsied  hand  and  its 
faltering  step ;  it  was  too  late  now  to  enter  upon  a  differ- 
ent mission— he  must  leave  his  task  unfinished.  He 
thought  of  this  with  regret— with  remorse.  And  brood- 
ing alone  over  this  in  the  deepening  shadows,  there  he 
still  sat,  sighing  at  seventy,  sadljf  sighing  that  the  sum 
mer  of  his  life  had  been  wasted  away. 


fi 


n,  for  the 
I  nobility 
se  of  pro- 
h.  still  in 
C  age  had 
id  and  its 
n  a  differ- 
hed.  He 
nd  brood- 
,  there  he 
the  sum 


CHAPTER   IV. 


ESTHER  MEADE. 


QHE  was  looking  at  the  ocean  in  its  grandeur,  at  the 
^summer  sea,  at  another  dawn  upon  the  'Treat  waste  of 
waters.  How  glorious  in  its  immensity  1  There  it  lay,  the 
mysterious  deep — a  picture  of  the  illimitable— in  its  most 
-complacent  mood,  gently  heaving  beneath  the  timid  light 
of  the  early  day,  while  flashes  of  purple  and  gold  glanced 
far  and  near  over  its  broad  azure  bosom.  As  yet  the  out- 
lines of  the  distant  coast  were  barely  visible ;  the  dim  grey 
mountain  afar  seemed  to  rise  up  like  a  lone  pyramid  in  the 
great  desert;  the  island,  still  beyond,  rested  like  some 
*<M  ^^^^^  creation  upon  the  slumbering  waves,  and  then,  soon 
as  the  sun's  broad  shafts,  like  spirits  of  the  light,  shot 
broadly  upwards,  the  mariner's  beacon  flame  faded  away 
with  the  stars,  and  the  huge  ships  away,  away  out  upon 
the  quiet  sea,  appeared  to  bo  flecks  of  drifting  foam  upon 
the  blushing  ocean. 

She  was  looking  with  placid  enjoyment  at  this  fresh 
display  of  natural  beauty  and  sublimity ;  she  could  witness 
with  eagerness  the  tumult  of  a  tempest,  but  the  glorious 
scene  before  her  was  one  which  was  sure  to  lead  Esther 
Meade  into  a  state  of  calm  religious  contemplation.  She 
felt  that  the  attractive  and  harmonious  blending  of  earth, 
ocean,  and  sky,  as  then  seen,  was  produced  for  man's 
special  observation  and  instruction ;  that  the  eye  was  made 
to  convey  impressions  of  these  superb  objects  to  the  mind, 
and  that  while  he  must  necessarily  acknowledge  evidence 


li^ 


u 


*HE  &EATHENS  OP  THE  HEATtt. 


-ilii 


hi:  M 


m 


•  ■ '  ■'ill 


•  i'  I 


of  design  In  their  creation,  his  heart  must  beat  In  gratltudo 
to  the  great  designer— the  giver  of  all  good. 

Such  was  the  bent  of  her  thoughts  as  she  Btood  leaning 
against  one  of  the  great  rocks  that  studded  the  pebbly 
shore  of  PendcU  bay.  Esther  Moado  was  a  picture  of 
health,  and  of  womanly  grace  and  dignity,  and  every  look 
and  gesture  indicated  self-reliance  and  resolution.  She 
was  of  medium  height,  and  her  ligurc  was  almost  perfect. 
Her  face,  though  not  very  handsome,  was  one  thata  painter 
would  like  to  study.  It  had  a  rare  expression  of  calmness 
and  determination ;  her  eyes  were  blue  and  soft,  but  pen- 
etrating; they  seemed  to  catch  one's  thoughts  at  a  glance ; 
and  her  dark  brown  hair  was  now  almost  hidden  under 
the  ample  straw  hat  which  she  wore  in  lior  rambles  and 
excursions.  Though  quite  indifferent  to  the  modes  and 
almost  endless  changes  of  modern  millinery,  her  dress  was 
always  most  becoming,  and  v/ithout  affecting  contem]>t 
for  expensive  fashion,  her  own  neat  and  peculiar  style  had 
imitators  among  many  who  were  prone  to  indulge  in  the 
lace  and  silken  mysteries  of  the  boudoir. 

Esther  Meade  delighted  to  be  out  with  the  dawn.  In 
the  mild  Summer  time  she  would  often  recline  for  over  an 
hour  at  a  time  upon  some  jutting  rock  that  was  covered 
with  sea  weed,  and  watch  the  rising  sun,  or  wait  until 
some  distant  sail  had  disappeared  from  view.  She  was 
accustomed  to  the  sea  in  all  its  moods.  She  could  row  a 
boat  or  manage  a  sail ;  she  could  fish  or  swim,  (as  every 
woman  should  be  able  to  do^;  she  knew  the  whole  chan- 
nel into  the  bay  as  well  as  a  pilot ;  and  she  knew  every 
dangerous  rock,  and  every  wave-worn  cave  for  some  miles 
along  the  coast,  and  oftentimes,  even  in  rather  rough 
w^eather,  she  would  sail  or  row  out  alone  to  the  distant 
light-house,  and  if  the  day  was  calm,  she  would  stay  float- 
ing about  for  hours  among  the  dangerous  rocks  sur- 
rounding that  structure,  peering  down,  as  some  hovering 
sea  bird  would,  Into  the  blue  depths,  as  if  looking  aftti 
some  stray  anchor  of  the  Armada,  or  watching  some  shin- 
ing object  below ;  or  eager  to  find  some  relic  of  a  storm,  or 


tttU  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEaTH. 


8« 


tltudo 


igra 


3d  leaning 
:he  pebbly 

picture  of 
every  look 
ition.     She 
ost  perfect, 
ata  painter 
af  calninesa 
»ft,  but  pcu- 
at  a  glance; 
(Idcn  under 
ambles  and 

modes  and 
ler  dress  was 
tg  contempt 
^ar  style  had 

dulge  in  the 

le  dawn.    In 
e  for  over  an 
Iwas  covered    ■ 
Ir  wait  until 
She  was 
I  could  row  a 
im,  (as  every 
whole  chaii- 
knew  every  • 
Ir  some  mih's 
lather  roup;li 
the  distant 
|ld  stay  float- 
rocks  sur- 
LB  hovering 
looking  after 
|g  some  shin- 
,f  a  storm,  or 


trace  the  scattered  spoil  of  a  wreck.  It  was  her  delight  to 
bo  iiwiiy  on  those  excursions;  she  know  no  fear,  and  she 
would  venture  out  in  the  wildest  storm  did  necessity 
require  it.  Her  father  often  told  her  that  she  was  too 
daring,  but,  knowing  her  coolness  and  dexterity,  he  seldom 
felt  uneasy  hi  her  absence.  She  had  been  trained  to  this 
rough  and  healthy  exercise  by  her  brother,  and  since  his 
departure  she  seemed  more  inclined  to  take  such  recrea- 
tion ;  it  no  doubt  reminded  her  of  the  many  happy  hours 
tliey  had  thus  spent  together.  Slie  felt  his  absence  sorely ; 
she  had  now  no  companion  in  her  wild  excursions ;  most 
of  her  female  friends  thought  her  too  reckless,  scarce- 
ly one  of  them  would  venture  to  join  in  her  hazardous 
expeditions,  and  none  of  the  farmers'  sons  in  the  parish 
would  presume  to  make  advances  to  the  curate's  daughter, 
and  the  sons  of  such  of  the  gentry  as  chose  to  reside  near 
Pendell  generally  sought  fashion  in  London,  or  in  other 
cities,  often  spending  lavishly  what  their  fathers,  in  their 
latter  years,  had  tried  to  save. 

In  the  Summer  months  a  titled  family  or  two  might 

make  a  short  stay  at  Pendell ;  ordinary  visitors  came  and 

went,  but  none  came  who  could  in  any  measure  supply  the 

place  of  her  brother.    There  was  one  particular  visitor, 

however,  who  professed  to  greatly  enjoy  such  recreation 

as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking,  and  who  seemed  willing 

to  spend  half  of  his  time  out  in  the  Bay;  this  was  the 

Rev.  George  Morton,  the  rector.    He,  no  doubt,  wished  to 

make  his  parochial  visits  to  Pendell  periods  of  special 

relaxation ;  during  such  times,  he  strove  to  pay  the  most 

distinguished  attention  to  Miss  Meade,  and  he  often  pro- 

t  posed  to  accompany  her  in  a  ramble  along  the  shore,  or 

[on  a  boating  excursion ;  she  evidently  stood  very  high  in 

[his  estimation,  and  he  was  anxious  to  have  her  under- 

i  stand  his  appreciation.    She,  however,  seemed  indifferent 

as  to  whether  the  rector  considered  her  clever,  or  amiable, 

or  otherwise ;  she,  somehow,  never  felt  inclined  to  take  a 

walk,  or  enter  a  boat  during  his  stay ;  and  as  she  did  not 

consider  herself  particularly  favored  either  by  his  prefer- 


86 


THE  UEATIIKNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ence  or  pressing  requosts,  she  always  had  a  ready  excuse 
to  remain  at  home.  Still,  on  hor  father's  account,  know- 
ing his  dependent  position  on  the  mere  whim  of  his  supe- 
rior—or rather  of  his  emi)ioyor— she  endeavored  to  make 
herself  as  agreeable  as  possible,  and  to  keep  Mr.  Morton 
from  fancying  himself  at  all  slif,'hted.  Sometimes  the 
rector  was  accompanied  by  his  wife,  he  appeared  anxious 
that  she  and  Miss  Meade  should  become  very  intimate, 
but  Mrs,  Morton  felt  her  position,  she  was  too  straight- 
laced  and  dignified  in  her  manner  with  the  curate's 
daughter,  and  the  formal  invitation  which  she  had  given 
Esther  to  visit  the  distant,  stylish  rectory,  had  never  yet 
been  formally  accepted. 

So  Miss  Meade,  fair  and  attractive  as  she  was  in  her 
twenty-fourth  year,  could  not  boast  of  a  lover,  or  of  a 
choice  companion ;  neither  did  she  receive,  except  seldom, 
the  polite  attentions  which  gentlemen  are  generally  glad 
to  show  to  ladies  of  refinement  and  education.  Had  her 
father  been  a  bishop,  or  a  rich  rector,  many  gallants 
might  have  fancied  that  her  blushes  had  reddened  their 
wine ;  but  as  he  was  only  a  poor  curate,  the  shade  of  his 
penury  paled  the  modest  bloom  that  would  have  adorned 
a  princess.  Her  comparatively  secluded  position  had, 
however,  given  her  more  self-reliance,  and  as  she  cared 
neither  for  the  frivolity  of  artificial  friendship,  nor  for  the 
glare  of  fashionable  life,  she  only  sought  to  make  her 
father's  home  happy,  and  to  do  her  duty  within  her  own 
particular  sphere.  As  a  clergyman's  daughter,  she  took 
great  interest  in  the  affairs  of  thoii  i  aral  church.  In  one 
sense  she  was  in  principle  stror.fjfly  "high  church,"  that 
is,  her  father  and  her  grandfi'tbor,  and  her  great  grand- 
father, having  been  duly  ordained  and  declared  successors 
in  the  apostolic  order,  and  authorized  to  preach  whole- 
some doctrine,  and  to  administer  the  two  Protestant  sac- 
raTnents  according  to  the  ceremonial  of  the  Church  of 
England,  she  inherited,  or  believed  that  she  had  a  right  to 
inherit,  strong  prejudices  in  favor  of  the  Established 
Church.    Her  ideas  of  theology  wore  educed  more  from  the 


.1 
^1 


i 


THE  HEATHENS  Of  THE  HEAtll. 


•7 


eady  excuse 
ount,  know- 
of  his  supe- 
red  to  mako 
Mr.  Morton 
netimos  the 
ired  anxious 
ry  intimate, 

00  straight- 
;he  curate's 
le  had  given 
id  never  yet 

1  was  in  hor 

•ver,  or  of  a 

3ept  seldom, 

nerally  ghid 

n.    Had  her 

Iny  gallants 

dencd  their 

ihade  of  his 

,ve  adorned 

jsition  had, 

s  she  cared 

,  nor  for  the 

0  make  her 

lin  her  own 

3r,  she  took 

ch.    In  one 

lureh,"  that 

freat  grand- 

i  successors 

)ach  whole- 

estant  sao 

Church  of 
d  a  right  to 

stablished 
>re  from  the 


cliurch  catechism  and  the  church  i)rayer  book,  than  from 
tiio  Bible,  and  Hlie  therefore  inferred  that  the  Church  of 
which  that  prayer  book  was  the  expositor,  was,  and  must 
be,  the  sole  pillar  and  ground  of  truth.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  she  looked  upon  dissenters  ns  rank  and  obstinate  error- 
ists,  and  upon  the  chapels,  or  conventicles,  as  she  preferred 
to  call  them,  of  Presbyterians,  or  of  Methodists,  or  of  other 
denominati<»ns,  as  places  or  dens  where  rank  heresy  was 
inculcated  contrary  to  the  ceremonies,  doctrines  and  arti- 
cles plainly  set  forth  in  the  aforesaid  Protestant  manual; 
and,  like  a  certain  class  of  high  church  individuals,  ohe 
could  treat  Popery  with  respect,  while  dissent  was  but  wor- 
thy  of  contempt.  Still  the  actions  of  Esther  Meade  were 
not  intolerant;  it  was  only  her  ox)inions  that  were  illiberal. 
How  fortunate  it  would  have  been  for  mankind,  had  such 
virtuous  inconsistency  controlled  the  acts  of  the  inhuman 
religious  dogmatists  of  other  days !  In  her  frequent  inter- 
course with  humble  families  in  the  parish,  as  well  as  in 
the  more  distant  parts,  she  never  inquired  as  to  their 
creed,  with  a  view  to  regulate  her  sympathies ;  she  tried  to 
discover  their  wants,  and  then  she  made  efforts  to  benefit 
all  without  distinction.  The  preachers  or  teachers  of  dis- 
sent were  in  reality  the  only  ones  against  whom  she  ever 
hurled  a  reproach,  and  although  she  had  an  instinctive 
dread  of  Infidelity,  yet  she  tried  to  think  it  more  consist- 
ent and  less  injurious  to  the  uneducated  and  humbler 
classes,  than  the  crude  schism  propagated  by  dogmatic 
or  blatant  reverends  of  the  Knox  or  Wesley  schools.  The 
Established  Church  was  therefore  to  her  the  real  true 
Church  for  England ;  it  was  the  spiritual  successor  of  its 
ancient  Koman  mother,  a  church  which  she  venerated  for 
its  antiquity,  but  denounced  because  of  its  oppression. 
The  English  Church  was  freed  from  the  useless  ostenta- 
tious ceremonies  of  Romanism,  ft  was  purged  from  the 
pagan  and  superstitious  rites  which  had  adhered  to  the 
ancient  faith,  and  it  shone  forth  in  happy  England  as  the 
authorized  exponent  of  Christian  truth.  She  often  won- 
dered why  these  characteristics  were  not  apparent  to  all, 


fp 


'AH 


I'HE  UEAtHEi^a  Of  T«E   Hr-VH. 


and  that  all  did  not  submit  to  its  teachinjjs.  The  lioniaii 
Church,  she  believed,  had  been  once  divinely  ordained, 
but  it  had  fallen  from  its  glory,  it  had  become  proud  and 
intolerant,  and  had  forfeited  its  position  of  pre-eminence. 
It  had  persecuted,  and  this,  she  thought,  was  alone  suffi- 
cient to  insure  its  degradation.  A  Christian  church,  perse- 
cuting for  opinion's  sake,  seemed  monstrous ;  and  she  well 
knew  that  the  great  ecclesiastical  Koman  power  had  cared 
but  very  little  for  human  life  where  its  own  intolerant 
aims  required  a  human  sacrifice. 

Overlooking  its  many  bitter  contests  for  supremacy,  she 
shuddered  at  its  wanton  prosecution  of  the  wild  attempts 
of  the  crusades  in  which  whole  nations  had  been  involv- 
ed. The  Head  of  the  Christian  Church,  Christian  poten- 
tates, and  Christian  priests,  had  all  urged  the  credulous 
and  impressible  multitudes  to  arm ;  and  frantic  hosts, 
with  sword  and  torch,  rushed  forward  to  slay  the  hated 
possessor  of  the  "Holy  Land,"  in  order  to  rescue  what 
w\as  supposed  to  be  the  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  pagan 
control ;  and  though  tho  Saracens  had  generally  respected 
the  religious  idea  of  the  Pilgrims  who  went  to  visit  the 
sacred  tomb,  and  had  even  allowed  them  to  build  a  church ; 
and  though  many  believe  that  there  is  no  fair  evidence  to 
prove  that  these  enlightened  unbeliovers  had  ever  dese- 
crated the  spot  so  sacred  to  Christians,  yet,  in  later  times, 
after  a  horde  of  barbarous  Turks  had  taken  possession  of 
Jerusalem,  when  it  was  asserted  that  Christian  i)ilgrims 
had  been  terribly  abused.  Christian  nations  became  in- 
censed, and  believed  that  the  Almighty  required  them  to 
deal  0"t  signal  vengeance,  and  in  what  followed,  we  see 
the  "Christian  at  work." 

Pope  Urban  II.,  greatly  affected,  it  is  said,  by  the  reci- 
tals of  Peter  the  Hermit,  who  had  visited  Jerusalem, 
addressed  an  immense  multitude,  and  urged  them  to  de- 
part and  rescue  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  as  soon  as  ne  had 
raised  his  hand  to  bless  the  armed  host,  and  had  pro- 
nounced the  absolution  of  their  sins,  they  rushed  oEf  in 
their  terrible  course  of  destruction. 


ttiE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


^9 


he  Ronitin 
'  ordained, 
proud  and 
-eminence, 
alone  suffi- 
irch,  perse- 
nd  she  well 
•  had  cared 
intolerant 

emaoy,  she 
d  attempts 
?en  involv- 
:ian  poten- 

credulous 
ntic  hosts, 

the  hated 
scue  what 
om  pagan 

respected 
D  visit  the 

a  church ; 

idence  to 
ever  dese- 

ter  times, 
session  of 
pilgrims 
lecame  in- 
them  to 

d,  we  see 


feo,  onward  marched  a  motly  assemblage  of  undisci- 
plined thousands,  wearing  a  cross  upon  the  shoulder,  dis- 
playing the  cross  upon  flaunting  banners,  and  shouting 
the  battle  cry  of  "  Deus  vult,"  God  wills  it.  The  belief  was 
then  gen'^ral,  that  the  whole  world  was  about  to  be  de- 
stroyed, and  that  the  great  day  of  judgment  was  at  hand. 
Every  eclipse  was  the  cause  of  intense  alarm ;  business 
was  almost  entirely  neglected;  buildings  were  suffered  to 
become  ruins,  and  true  believers  seemed  only  anxious  to 
I)r6pitiate  heaven  by  attempting  to  rescue  the  holy  sep- 
ulchre ere  the  final  consumation  of  all  things.  Insane 
with  this  idea,  the  fanatical  Crusaders  dealt  no  mercy  to 
those  who  opposed  them ;  men,  women  and  children,  they 
remorselessly  slaughtered;  neither  tender  infancy  nor 
hoary  age  was  respected,  and  thousands  of  unfortunate 
Jews  were  wantonly  murdered.  In  the  first  crusade,  after 
a  siege  of  five  weeks,  Jerusalem  was  taken  by  assault,  and 
a  distinguished  writer  *  remarks :  "  Neither  arms  defend- 
ed the  vaUant,  nor  submission  the  timorous.  No  age  or 
sex  was  spared,  infants  on  the  breast  were  pierced  by  the 
same  blow  with  their  mothers  who  implored  for  mercy ; 
even  a  multitude,  to  the  number  of  10,000  persons  who 
had  surrendered  themselves  prisoners,  and  were  promised 
quarter,  were  butchered  in  cold  blood  by  those  ferocious 
conquerors."  It  is  admitted  that,  throughout  the  entire 
period  of  these  terrible  struggles,  i-^.e  Christians  were  more 
brutal,  and  far  less  merciful,  thaa  Jie  unbelievers  whose 
country  they  had  invaded  ;  f  vd  though  they  had  violated 
treaties  with  impunity,  yet  whin  the  chivalrous  infii'  1, 
Saladin,  took  Jerusalem,  ho  spared  all. 

However,  after  these  vast  j  reparations,  after  the  prayers 
of  tho  Church,  after  seven  different  crusades  occurring 
from  time  to  time  during  a  period  of  over  150  years,  caus- 
ing the  .destruction  of  over  two  millions  of  human  l-.?mgs ; 
after  such  a  waste  of  blood  and  trea.«ure,  r*,rd  ".fter  .su.3h 
untold  expense,  a  few  temporary  succesaed  v/e7:e  the  ui«a- 


Humfl. 


f 


W" 


i;:,;; 


40 


THE  S£AtIt£KS  OF  TUB  U^kfU. 


gre  result ;  and  the  cowed,  decimated  crusaders  returned, 
leaving  the  "Holy  City"  still  in  the  possession  of  the 
unbeliever ;  and  Palestine,  even  to  the  present  day,  rejects 
the  cross,  and  is  under  the  dominion  of  the  crescent. 

The  main  benefits  which  the  world  derived  from  the 
crusades,  were  an  increase  of  commercf  witn  the  nrbe 
lieving  nations  of  the  East,  and  the  exte  aded  influence  o! 
Grecian  and  Saracenic  civilization  and  re.^nement  among 
Christians;  but  the  Christian  Church  was  a  peculiar 
gainer,  inasmuch  as  it  was  further  enriched  by  a  fresh 
supply  of  human  skulls  and  bones,  and  other  saintly  reLcs 
direct  from  the  blest  or  cursed  city  of  Jerusalem.* 

Kestless  in  its  mighty  power,  the  Church  still  aimed  at 
universal  domination;  it  was  powerless  for  the  time 
against  Paganism,  but  there  were  others  whom  it  could 
control.  There  were  actually  Christians  at  that  time  who 
disputed  the  doctrines  and  defied  the  arrogance  of  the 
Roman  power.  The  Greek  Church  was  a  rival  which  could 
not  safely  be  assailed,  but  there  was  heresy  in  the  land, 
even  within  the  limits  of  Pontifical  authority,  which  must 
be  crushed  out  to  save  the  integrity  of  the  so-called 
"Mother  Church;"  and  the  sword  which  had  been  used 
inefifectually  when  the  Christian  was  at  work  against  the 
Infidel  in  Palestine,  was  now  to  be  turned  against  a  Chris- 
tian community  in  the  south  of  France.  The  Albigenses 
were  the  unfortunate  people  against  whom  the  head  of 
the  Church  had  directed  his  ire.  In  A.  D.  1209  Pope  Inno- 
cent III.  proclaimed  a  crusade  against  these  unoffending 
•brethren— to  him  they  were  criminals  because  they  had 


■  1 
1 


•  Alluding  to  the  Crusaders,  Giilzot  says:  "  They  also  found  them- 
salves  in  juxtaposition  with  two  civilizations  not  only  different  from 
thoir  cwn,  but  more  advanced,  the  Greeks  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
Mohammedans  on  the  other.  It  is  curious  to  observe  in  the  old 
chronicles,  the  impression  which  the  Crusaders  made  upon  the 
Mussulmans.  These  latter  regarded  them  first  as  barbarians :  as  the 
rudest,  the  most  ferocious,  and  the  most  stupid  class  of  men  they 
had  ever  seen.  The  Crusaders,  on  their  part,  were  struck  with  the 
riches  and  elegance  of  manners  of  the  Mussulmans."  (Hist  CiviU- 
EAtion.  Vol.  1,  p.  154.) 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


41 


s  returned, 
3ion  of  the 
day,  rejects 
scent. 

d  from  the 
L  tlie  iirbe 
influence  o! 
ent  among 
a  peculiar 
by  a  fresh 
lintly  relica 
m.* 

11  aimed  at 
r  the  time 
om  it  could 
it  time  who 
mce  of  the 
vhich  could 
n  the  land, 
?v^hich  must 
e  so-called 
been  used 
a^gainst  the 
ast  a  Chris- 
Albigenses 
he  head  of 
Pope  Inno- 
inofifending 
3  they  had 

foHnd  them- 
fforent  from 
and,  and  the 
re  in  the  old 
do  upon  the 
rians :  as  the 

of  men  they 
uck  with  the 

(Hist  OiviU- 


dared  to  regulate  their  own  religious  belief— and  he  urged 
Catuolic  princes  and  people  to  hasten  forward  in  the  holy 
war  of  extermination  ;  and  in  his  fierce  exhortation  to 
the  king  of  France,  used  these  words:  "We  exhort  you 
that  you  would  endeavor  to  destroy  that  wicked  heresy  of 
the  Aibigenses,  and  to  do  this  with  more  vigor  than  you 
would  toward  the  Saracens  themselves;  persecute  them 
with  a  strong  hand,  deprive  them  of  their  lands  and  pos- 
sessions, banish  them  and  put  Roman  Catholics  in  their 
room."  An  army  of  nearly  half  a  million  of  fierce  zealots 
vas  soon  assembled,  each  of  whom  was  exempted  from 
thrt  inrisdiction  of  secular  courts  and  tribunals  for  debt  or 
fjr  'dne;  the  pardon  of  all  sins,  past  and  future,  was 
i.io'-.jgcjd  by  the  Church,  and  a  special  indulgence  was 
g 'a Tiled  to  every  one  who  should  become  enrolled  in  the 
holy  army.  The  crusaders  against  Pagans  in  Palestine 
wore  a  cross  on  the  shoulder,  and,  as  a  distinguishing 
mark,  the  crusaders  against  Christians  in  France  wore  a 
cross  on  the  breast,  and  were  headed  and  commanded  by 
Chitstian  princes,  legates,  bishops,  and  noblemen.  Count. 
Raymond  of  Toulouse,  then  ruier  of  the  territory  inhabited 
by  the  Aibigenses,  though  himself  a  Catholic,  was  quite 
averse  to  the  persecution  of  his  own  people,  and  his  inter- 
ference in  their  behalf  greatly  offended  the  Pope,  who  was 
determiDt  d  -o  extirpate  the  heresy.  So  when  the  great 
arnjy  mr.bd  ♦  rwardthe  Count  became  greatly  alarmed, 
and  t  n-!  t")  conciliate  his  Holiness  by  consenting  to  act 
even  >j,'^fi..  ^  ^he  Aibigenses ;  and  though  the  Pope  affect- 
ed 'o  gram  ulm  .  pardon,  he  merely  wished  to  keep  him 
submissive  for  the  time,  intending  to  punish  him  when 
opportunity  offered.  The  Pope's  duplicity  is  exposed  in 
ciio  following  message  which  he  addressed  to  his  legato : 
"  Wo  counsel  you,  with  the  Apostle  Paul,  to  employ  guile 
with  regard  to  this  Count,  for  in  this  case  it  ought  to  be 
called  prudence.  We  must  attack  separately  those  who 
are  s'?par£it*;d  from  unity :  leave  for  a  time  the  Count  of 
TouIj  <s>^,  e£2  ploying  towards  him  a  wise  dissimulation, 
that  the  othf  r  heretics  may  be  the  more  easily  defeated. 


42 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


and  that  afterwards  we  may  crush  him  when  he  shall  be 
left  alone."  Such  was  the  craft  used  by  the  Vicar  of 
Christ:  his  fanatical  army  thirsted  for  blood,  and  terrible 
was  the  onslaught ;  even  history  almost  hesitates  to  give 
the  dark  and  sickening  details  of  years  of  rapine,  blood 
and  slaughter. 

Having  taken  the  city  of  Beziers,  which  was  at  that' 
time  crowded  with  refugees— Catholics  as  well  as  heretics 
—the  leaders  of  the  impatient  fanatics  requested  the  Pope's 
legate,  then  present,  to  inform  them,  before  the  slaughter 
commenced,  how  they  should  distinguish  Catholics  from 
heretics,  to  wL  h  the  legate  senl.  this  dreadful  reply: 
"  Tuez  les  Touft,  -^ninoit  ceux  qui  sont  a  lui !  " — Kill 

them  all,  God  wii^  .  >■  'w  His  own.  This  infamous  com- 
mand was  strictly  obeyed — not  one  was  left  alive— not  a 
house  was  left  standing,  and  in  the  sad  night  when  Beziers 
was  in  blood  and  flames,  over  60,000  human  beings  lay 
slaughtered  within  its  blackened  boundaries— a  fearful 
evidence  that  the  Christian  had  been  at  work. 


'# 
■« 


he  shall  be 
le  Viear  of 
and  terrible 
ates  to  give 
,pine,  blood 

was  at  that' 
as  heretics 
d  the  Pope's 
le  slaughter 
liolics  from 
idful  reply: 
,lui!"— Kill 
amous  com- 
alive— not  a 
^hen  Beziers 
I  beings  lay 
js— a  fearful 


CHAPTER   V. 


"the  christian  at  wobk." 


rpHERE  have  been  saints  in  all  ages,  and  in  all  nations, 
-^     Pagan  as  well  as  Christian.    As  boors  without  per- 
sonal worth,  or  the  least  trace  of  natural  nobility,  can, 
even  at  the  present  day,  be  created  temporal  Lords,  so 
the  vilest  of  sinners,  without  a  single  ray  of  holiness,  can 
still  be  baptized  or  elevated  into  saints.    The  Church  has 
ever  been  ready  to  canonize  its  favorites,  no  matter  what 
the  world  might  think  of  them  or  of  their  absurd  or  almost 
miraculous  transition  from  fiends  to  spirits  of  light.     If 
Pope  or  Prince  recognized  their  services,  from  either  a 
spiritual,  political,  or  peculiar  point,  it  was  easy  to  cancel 
[sins,  venial  or  mortal,  to   pronounce   absolution,  and, 
therefore,  with  the  sacred  sponge  of  authority,  to  wipe 
out  every  stain.    High  Priests  of  all  creeds  have,  for  a 
[consideration,  generally  been  willing  to  transform  hid- 
feousness  into  beauty,  and  to  change  the  sordid,  brutal* 
character  of  some  obsequious  tyrant  into  one  of  meekness 
and  purity,  deserving  of  a  prominent  position  even  in 
[paradise.    It  might  not  be  easy  to  determine  how  much 
[folly,  how  much  virtue,  or  how  much  vice,  would  be  suffl- 
[cient  to  establish  a  claim  for  canonization,  but  it  is  well 
[known  that  characters  noted  for  great  servility,  for  great 
humanity,  or  for  great  atrocities,  have  alike  been  elevated 
to  the  I  eerage  of  the  celestial  realm. 

Now,  -without  much  seeking  for  illustrations  as  to  why 
some  have  received  such  special  spiritual  distinction,  we 


? 


w 


44 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


all  know  that  In  Hindoostan  the  fanatic  Brahmin  who 
tore  his  flesh  with  iron  hooks,  or  let  his  finger  nails  grow 
through  the  back  of  his  hand,  won  the  veneration  of  true 
believers,  and  was  esteemed  a  saint ;  that  the  dervish,  or 
Mohammedan  monk,  whose  life  was  spent  in  prayer  and 
penury,  and  who  was  ready  to  destroy  an  unbeliever  to 
secure  celestial  glory,  was  likewise  a  saint ;  and  we  also 
know  that  Christian  fakirs,  like  their  originals  in  India, 
were  canonized  by  the  Church ;  one,  because  he  had  doled 
out  a  miserable  existence,  squatted  and  squalid,  on  the  top 
of  a  high  pillar,  as  did  Symon  the  stylite ;  another,  like 
St.  Francis,  because  he  had  lived  in  a  cave  in  rags  and  filth. 
One,  because  he  could  periodically  lash  and  persecute 
himself;  another,  because  he  could  systematically  lash 
and  persecu^r  somebody  else. 

Then,  besides  these,  there  is  a  curious  tribe  known  as 
National  Saiit  wVrsoannual  worship  is  generally  a  grand 
debauch,  and  whose  reputed  exploits  are  mostly  as  mythi- 
cal as  the  origin  of  the  saints  themselves.  St.  George  is 
venerated  in  England,  probably  because  he  is  said  to  have 
killed  a  fiery  dragon,  and  a  multitude  of  ignorant  Chris- 
tians actually  believe  that,  as  a  noted  bare  back  rider,  he 
performed  that  distinguished  feat.  St.  Patrick  is  almost 
adored  in  Ireland,  partly  because  it  is  believed  that  he 
banished  snakes  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  partly  be- 
cause, by  the  convincing  exhibition  of  a  simple  shamrock, 
he  so  impressed  the  minds  of  the  Pagan  Irish  as  to  make 
them  believe  that  there  were  three  superior  deities  instead 
of  one.  And  what  St.  Andrew  did  for  Scotland,  St.  David 
for  Wales,  St.  Dennis  for  France,  Augustine  for  the  Saxons, 
or  Boniface  for  Germany,  may  be  arrived  at  as  correctly 
by  a  simple  guess  as  by  the  perusal  of  any  particular  record 
in  their  behalf. 

Among  some  of  the  latest  worthies  which  the  Eoman 
Church  has  authoritively  added  to  the  army  of  saints,  wo 
find  the  name  of  Peter  D'Arbuss,  who  was  Inquisitor  Gen- 
eral of  Arragon  in  1484,  and  an  active  persecutor  of  heretics. 
Ignatius  iftyola,  the  gloomy  faaatio  and  founder  of  the 


m 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATS. 


4S 


irahmin  who 
31  nails  grow 
ation  of  true 
le  dervish,  or 
n  prayer  and 
unbeliever  to 

and  we  also 
lals  in  India, 

he  had  doled 
id,  on  the  top 
another,  like 
rags  and  filth, 
nd  persecute 
latically  lash 

ibe  known  as 

erally  a  grand 

stly  as  mythi- 

St.  George  is 

s  said  to  have 

orant  Chris- 

ack  rider,  he 

iick  is  almost 

leved  that  he 

d  partly  be- 

fle  shamrock, 

h  as  to  make 

ities  instead 

d,  St.  David 

r  the  Saxons, 

as  correctly 

iicular  record 

the  Eoman 

)f  saints,  we 

^uisitor  Gen- 

'  of  heretics. 

mder  of  the 


crafty,  unscrupulous  order  of  Jesuits,  was  canonized  by 
Pope  Gregory  XV.  in  1663;  and,  centuries  before  that,  the 
«avage  St.  Dominic,  who  advocated  and  secured  the  estab- 
lisiiment  of  the  "Holy  Inquisition,"  and  who,  as  some 
assort,  was  the  first  Inqisitor  General  of  that  infamous 
tribunal,  was  ofiicially  included  among  the  blest  by  Pope 
Gregory  IX  in  1223.  This  very  St.  Dominic  was  he  who 
Instigated  the  Pope  against  the  Albigenses,  and  who  aided 
and  encouraged  the  brutal  Montfort  in  a  further  course  of 
;l)ersecution. 

'      After  the  slaughter  at  Beziers,  Count  Simon  De  Mont- 
fort, the  beloved  avenger  of  the  Church,  was  now  leader  of 
the  "Holy  Army,"  and  he  followed  up  his  atrocious  pro- 
ceedings in  different  places,  some  of  which  proceedings 
Are  thus  recorded  by  Catholic  authors :    "  He  took  several 
castles  which  resisted  the  Holy  Church,  and  hanged  of 
good  right  many  of  their  inhabitants  upon  gibbets,  which 
they  had  well  merited."*    Relative  to  another  place,  the 
liiistorian  says :    "  The  besieged,  wearied  out  with  a  long 
^iBiege,  having  fled  during  the  night,  were  stopped  by  our 
^guards,  who  cut  the  throats  of  as  many  as  they  could 
.^nd."t    And  of  another  place :   "  The  Count  Simon  having 
itaken  the  castle,  caused  the  above  named  Aimeri,  a  nota- 
ble nobleman,  to  be  hanged  upon  a  gibbet,  also  a  small 
number  of  knights.     The  other  nobles,  with  some  who 
had  mixed  among  them  in  the  hope  that  the  knights  would 
be  spared,  to  the  number  of  about  eighty,  were  put  to  the 
•word,  and  lastly,  some  three  hundred  heretics  burnt  in 
this  world  were  thus  given  over  by  him  to  the  eternal  fire, 
and  Guirande,  the  lady  of  the  chateau,  cast  into  a  well, 
was  there  crushed  down  with  stones,  "t 

After  a  series  of  butcheries  during  the  first  year  of  the 
crusade  against  the  Albigenses,  the  "  holy  army,"  with  its 
pnerons  reinforcements,  commenced  its  second  year's 
impaign   by  taking,  with    other  places,  the   castle  of 

*  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay. 
t  William  of  Nangis. 
I  Puy  Laurens. 


46 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Brom,  when  about  one  hundred  of  its  defenders  were 
shockingly  mutilated  ;  their  noses  were  cut  off,  and  their 
eyes  were  torn  out ;  but  one  individual  was  left  one  eye  so 
that  he  might  be  able  to  conduct  the  Christian  savages  lo 
the  town  of  Carabat.  All  through  their  terrible  course 
the  taking  of  several  other  castles  and  towns  was  followed 
by  similar  atrocities ;  prisoners  were  offered  the  choice  of 
apostasy,  or  Are,  or  mutilation.  When  Montfort  advanced 
to  the  attack  of  Toulouse  the  peasants  laboring  in  the 
field,  were  slaughtered— men,  women  and  children  were 
butchered — villages,  cottages,  and  farm  houses  were  burn- 
ed to  the  ground,  and  the  Pope's  legate  also  ordered  the 
destruction  of  vines,  and  the  whole  of  the  standing  crops. 
Thus,  when  town  after  town  had  surrendered,  Montfort 
was  sure  to  order  the  execution  of  the  Inhabitants,  and 
thus  for  over  twenty  years  were  the  Albigenses  persecuted 
and  slaughtered  by  the  unmerciful  hosts  of  the  Head  of 
the  Church. 

Among  the  mountains  in  the  north  of  Italy  there  was 
another  body  of  Christians  known  as  the  Waldenses ;  they 
were  not  identical  with  the  Albigenses,  but  were  different 
doctrinally  and  otherwise.  They  were  distinguished  for 
the  most  irreproachable  conduct,  and  a  more  inoffensive 
people  could  not  be  found  in  all  Europe.  Claudius,  Arch- 
bishop of  Turin,  wrote :  "  Their  heresy  excepted,  they 
generally  live  a  purer  life  than  other  Christians."  The 
charge  of  heresy  was,  however,  brought  against  them  and 
for  over  the  great  period  of  five  hundred  years — from  1179 
to  1689— these  people  were  fearfully  harassed  by  the  dom- 
inant church.  The  first  edict  against  them  was  issued  by 
Pope  Alexander  III.  in  which  he  said:  "We  therefore 
subject  to  a  curse  both  themselves  and'their  defenders  and 
harborers,  and  under  a  curse  we  prohibit  all  persons  from 
admitting  them  into  their  houses— but  if  they  die  in  thei# 
sin  let  them  not  receive  Christian  burial.  .  .  We  likewise 
from  the  mercy  of  God,  and  relying  upon  the  authority 
of  the  blessed  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  relax  two  years 
of  enjoined  penance  to  those  faithful  Christians  who,  by 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


47 


iders  were 
T,  and  their 
t  one  eye  so 
L  savages  to 
ible  course 
as  followed 
le  choice  of 
rt  advanced 
ring  in  the 
ildren  were 
were  burn- 
ordered  the 
iding  crops, 
d,  Montfort 
»itants,  and 
;  persecuted 
the  Head  of 


there  was 

lenses;  they 

re  different 

uished  for 

inoffensive 

ius,  Arch- 

3pted,  they 

ans."    The 

them  and 

-from  1179 

y  the  dom- 

issued  by 

therefore 

nders  and 

rsons  from 

lie  in  thei# 

fe  likewise 

authority 

two  years 

IS  who,  by 


i 


;  the  counsel  of  the  bishops  or  other  prelates,  shall  take  up 
arms  to  subdue  them  by  fighting  against  them."    Soon 

4  aftor  numbers  of  these  people  were  burned  at  Bingen  and 

iat  McMitz,  and  manv  others  hunted  from  place  to  place, 
and  scattered  from  country  to  country  by  an  infuriated 
soldiery.  Another  edict  was  issued  against  them  by  Pope 
Lucius  III.  in  1181,  and  subsequently  by  other  Popes  and 
rulers.  roi)o  Innocent  VIII.  in  1487  directed  his  nuncio 
and  the  Inquisitor  General,  Blasius,  "To  take  up  arms 
a^aiinst  the  said  Waldenses  and  other  heretics,  and  tc 
come  to  an  understanding  to  crush  them  like  venomous 
asi)s,  and  to  contribute  all  their  care  to  so  holy  and  so 
necessary  an  extermination  ;  "  and  afterwards  Pope  Pius 
IV.,  in  15()0,  authorized  another  brutal  crusade  against 
them,  and  the  most  terrible  cruelties  were  again  almost 
unceasingly  peri)etrated  down  to  the  year  1655,  when,  by 
the  interposition  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  of  England,  they 
were  partially  discontinued,  but  were  soon  again  renewed 
and  continued  until  1689. 

A  Catholic  writer  furnishes  a  narrative  of  one  of  the 
atrocities  committed  against  the  Waldenses  in  1560,  and 

!k  states :  "  Having  written  you  from  time  to  time  what  has 
been  done  here  in  the  affair  of  heresy,  I  have  now  to 
inform  you  of  the  dreadful  justice  which  began  to  be  exe- 
cuted on  these  Lutherans  this  morning,  being  the  11th  of 
June,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  can  compare  it  to  noth- 
ing but  thj?  slaughter  of  so  many  sheep.  They  were  shut 
up  in  one  house,  as  in  a  sheepfold.  The  executioner  went, 
and  bringing  out  one  of  them,  covered  his  face  with  a 
napkin,  or  benda  as  we  call  it,  led  him  out  to  a  field  near 
the  house,  and  causing  him  to  kneel  down,  cut  his  throat 
with  a  knife.  Then  taking  off  the  bloody  napkin,  he  went 
;3and  brought  out  another,  whom  he  put  to  death  after  the 
eame  manner.  In  this  way  the  whole  number  of  eighty- 
eight  men  were  butchered.  I  still  shudder  when  I  think 
of  the  executioner  with  his  bloody  knife  in  his  teeth,  the 
dripping  napkin  in  his  hand,  and  his  arm  besmeared  with 
gore,  going  to  the  house  and  taking  out  one  victim  after 


48 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


another,  Just  as  a  butcher  does  the  sheep  he  means  to 
kill."*  Tomasso  Costo,  a  Catholic  historian,  also  wrote 
concerning  the  cruelties  tD  the  Waldenses :  "Some  had 
their  throats  cut,  others  were  sawn  through  the  middle, 
and  others  thrown  from  the  top  of  a  high  cliff ;  all  were 
cruelly  but  deservedly  put  to  death,"  The  Waldenses, 
though  subjected  to  such  woful  persecution,  were  not  after 
all  exterminated ;  they  contended  for  liberty  of  opinion 
with  extraordinary  pertinacity ;  but  it  was  not  until  the 
reign  of  Victor  Emanuel,  the  present  king  of  Italy,  that 
they  received  the  same  privileges  as  others. 

Esther  Meade  recalled  these  historical  facts  of  religious 
persecution  with  a  feeling  of  anguish  and  indignation. 
In  addition  to  these  cruelties,  she  had  to  remember  the 
terrible  Inquisition  with  its  dread  "familiars,"  its  "Holy 
Office,"  its  dungeons,  its  racks,  screws,  pulleys,  weights, 
and  other  horrid  instruments  for  producing  the  most 
agonizing  torment.  In  imagination  she  could  enter  the 
gloomy  "hall  of  torture,"  and  in  the  dim  light  she  could 
see  the  malignant  judges  of  that  infernal  court ;  she  could 
see  the  rack,  and  the  waiting  executioner.  She  looks 
again,  and  oh !  fearful  scene !  She  sees  one  of  her  own 
sex,  she  sees  a  woman,  young,  and  once  beautiful,  but  now 
naked— yes,  actually  naked— stretched  out  in  dire  agony, 
with  dislocated  limbs,  bleeding  and  fainting  before  men ! 
Men?  No!  but  before  fiends  in  human  shape,  called — In- 
quisitors. There  they  sit,  or  recline,  with  their  books  and 
crosses,  and  with  the  stolid  indifference  of  the  veriest  sava- 
ges. Alas !  alas !  no  soothing  voice  can  ever  more  be  heard, 
no  word  of  comfort  spoken  in  that  dolorous  hour,  no  tender 
human  heart  throbs  with  sympathy  for  that  poor  victim, 
no  eye  is  dimmed  with  pity  for  so  much  human  suffering, 
no  ear  is  pained  to  hear  the  death  groans  of  that  delicate 
girl,  guilty  most  likely  of  no  offence,  save  that  of  having 
perhaps  spoken  lightly  of  some  suspicious  priest,  or  of 
some  absurd  rite  of  the  Church.    The  dew  of  death  is  upon 


*  In  a  letter  to  Ascanio  CaraooioU— Dowling's  Hist  Bomanism, 


"^r^ 


% 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


49 


means  to 
Iso  wrote 
Some  had 
e  middle, 
;  all  were 
'^aldenses, 
3  not  after 
)f  opinion 
until  the 
ttaly,  that 

if  religious 
dignation. 
ember  the 
its  "Holy 
3,  weights, 
the  most 
enter  the 
1  she  could 
she  could 
She  looks 
her  own 
1,  but  now 
ire  agony,  ^ 
ore  men! 
ulled— In- 
jooks  and 
riest  sava- 
be  heard, 
no  tender 
Dor  victim, 
suflfering, 
,t  delicate 
of  having 
iest,  or  of 
,th  is  upon 

maniBin. 


h"r  brow,  her  parted  lips  are  reddened  with  her  own  life 
blood,  her  clotted  hair,  her  bruised  body,  and  her  broken 
f\llmbs,  elicit  no  word  of  remorse  for  her  agony  Alone  flffid 
unresisting  she  is  in  the  hands  of  her  brutal  persecutors; 
the  muffled  walls  conduct  no  sound  of  her  distress  to  the 
outward  world,  it  is  shut  out  to  her  forever.  The  icy  hand 
Of  the  last  deliverer  is  now  upon  her,  but  the  actual  stare 
df  death  is  less  terrible  to  her  closing  eyes  and  fading  vis- 
ion than  the  scowl  of  the  accursed  monsters  who  sit  before 
her  — the  clerical  monsters  of  the  holy  order  of  St. 
Dominic* 

'   Fearful  reminisencel    Miss  Meade  shudders  as  if  she 
r  were  an  actual  witness  of  that  scene  of  horror ;  but  soon 
another  view  is  presented.    It  is  a  gala  day  in  Madrid ;  it 
is  the  Christian  Sabbath.    The  pious  who  have  attended 
^jtshurch  are  moving  towards  the  massive,  gloomy  building 
Ipf  the  Inquisition.    The  Spanish  King  and  his  courtiers 
ji,re  sitting  on  an  elevated  stage  which  is  richly  carpeted, 
and  the  royal  person  is  shaded  by  a  silken  canopy. f    There 
are  also  to  bo  seen  familiars  and  grandees  from  Cordova, 
land  from  other  cities.    Bishops  in  rich  robes  are  in  con- 
spicuous positions,  and  great  numbers  of  priests,  monks 
and  friars,  attest  that  there  is  to  be  a  ceremony  of  some 
■jkind  in  which  the  Church  is  greatly  interested.    The  sun- 
ii&eams  flash  upon  the  mitres  and  crosses  of  ecclesiastics, 
iind   upon   the   swords  and    spears  and  other  military 
reapons  of  the  armed  missionaries  of  the  "True Faith." 
Lll  present  seem  to  be  in  a  state  of  excited  expectation. 
Jut  hark!   a  bell  tolls— it  has  been  tolling  at  intervals 
lince  the  early  dawn.    It  cannot  be  the  call  for  an  impos- 
ing or  brilliant  religious  ceremony ;  no,  'tis  a  death  knell, 
||he  knell  for  another  dread  act  of  religious  persecution. 
j6ee !    There  is  now  a  movement  in  the  vast  crowd  in  front 
of  the  Inquisition ;  its  heavy  gates— like  the  gates  of  hell 
.-—yawn  wide,  and  a  procession,  as  if  intended  to  represent 

*  DesCi-ibed  from  a  similar  reoord  in  the  Hist,  of  the  Inauisltion.— 
[oreri. 


t  Charles  II.  was  present  at  the  "  splendid ' 
[adrid.— Chamb.  £no. 


8 


Auto  da  fe  of  1680  at 


« 


60 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


an  egress  of  spirits  of  the  damned,  moves  slowly  out. 
Dominican  friars— callotd  pious  men— are  in  advance,  bear- 
irif  the  repulsive  banner  of  the  "  Holy  Inquisition,"  peni- 
tents, or  those  who  have  been  terrified  into  compliance, 
follow;  and  then  follow  the  bare-footed,  sad,  and  long 
array  of  those  who  are  destined  for  the  flames.  Some 
with  pallid  face  are  wounded  and  limping;  some  are  too 
weak  and  emaciated  to  walk,  and  these,  with  others  whoso 
bones  have  been  broken,  and  whose  flesh  has  been  man- 
gled by  the  torture,  are  rudely  borne  towards  the  giiardeil 
space  in  front  of  the  majesty,  the  episcopacy,  and  the 
nobility  of  Spain  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  fanatical  crowd 
whose  eyes  are  hungry  for  a  fresh  scene  of  torture.  The 
condemned  are  clad  in  the  yellow  SanbeMto,  disfigured 
with  infernal  effigies,  each  wears  the  coroza,  or  i)ointed 
cap  of  infamy,  and  holds  an  extinguished  torch ;  and  each 
is  attended  by  a  Jesuit  >vho  hurls  reproaches,  instead  of 
offering  a  word  of  pity  or  a  prayer  for  mercy.  They  have 
now  reached  the  great  cross  erettted  in  the  field  of  the 
Cruz  del  Quemadaro,  the  place  of  execution ;  the  sentence 
is  read,  a  blow  is  given  to  each  of  the  condemned  by  one 
of  the  clerical  officers  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the  accused 
are  delivered  over  to  the  secular  power,  A  feeble,  formal, 
hypocritical  plea  in  their  behalf  is  muttered  by  a  priest— 
a  vile  deceit ;  for  the  stakes  are  fixed,  and  tbo  fuel  is  ready, 
and  the  condemned  are  chained  and  weeping.  There  is  no 
offering  of  mercy  in  reply  to  that  plea,  for  the  Christian 
king  ostentatiously  sends  his  gilded  and  adorned  fagot  to 
be  added  to  the  pile.  Oh  horror!  The  flames  ascend,  a 
hundred  human  beings  are  shrieking,  and  groaning,  and 
writhing  in  torture.  The  surrounding  multitude  are 
delighted,  and  thanks  to  God  are  given  by  the  king,  by 
the  priests,  and  by  the  people,  for  this  triumph  of  tho 
True  Faith,  for  the  extirpation  of  so  much  heresy;  and 
for  the  terrible  spectacle  of  another  Auto  dafe* 

*  On  the  12th  of  May,  1689.  eighty-three  heretias.  inoludinflr  twenty 
Jews,  were  burnt  by  the  InQuisition,  and  a  pile  of  wood  eighty  feet 
long  and  seven  feet  high  was  consumed  in  the  religious  oeremony. 


f 


If 


lowly  out. 
Einoe,  bear- 
on,"  peal- 
omplianee, 
,  and  long 
lea.    Some 
me  are  too 
hers  whoso 
been  man- 
;he  gaardo(l 
ey,  and  the 
itical  crowd 
)rture.    Tlie 
5,  disfigured 
,  or  pointed 
h ;  and  each 
s,  instead  of 
They  have 
field  of  the 
the  sentence 
aned  by  one 
the  accused 
Bble,  formal, 
by  a  priest- 
fuel  is  ready, 
There  is  no 
e  Christian 
ed  fagot  to 
es  ascend,  a 
oaning,  and 
iltitude   are 
he  king,  by 
,mph  of  the 
heresy;  and 


lludinj?  twenty 

lod  eighty  f^'t 

\  ceremony. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


"thk  christian  at  wokk.'* 


WHEN  one  is  in  a  reflective  mood  it  often  happens 
that  the  most  melancholy  ideas  will  present  them- 
selves to  the  mind ;  and  memory  .seems  to  be  importuned 
to  add  link  after  link  to  a  chain  of  events  solely  voUiting 
tothe  8orrt)Ws'and  sufferings  of  mankind.  "While  Tiiought, 
like  an  angel  of  hope,  has  most  delight  in  soaring  towards 
the  splendors  of  heaven,  it  Is  sometimes  doomed  to  descend 
and  to  flutter  like  a  bat  amid  the  gloom  and  the  ruins  of 
misery. 

Esther  Meade;  ever  pleased  to  reflect  upon  circumstances 
■which  related  to  the  happiness  of  her  kind,  would  fain 
retain  ideas  of  all  that  had  been  condu(;ive  to  earthly  bliss, 
but  now,  unable  to  control  her  thoughts,  they  seemed 
determined  to  rush  down  with  impetuous  haste  to  the 
very  confines  of  woe,  and  to  bring  back  to  her  view  some 
of  the  darkest  pictures  of  history. 

Nowhere  in  the  annals  of  cruelty  and  oppression,  can 
more  dreadful  events  be  discovered  than  those  which 
relate  to  religious  persecution ;  such  events  were  now 
.vividly  before  her  mind,  and,  upon  her  return  from  her 
[early  ramble  to  the  bay,  she  could  think  of  but  little  else. 
She  tried  to  make  the  retrospection  more  agreeable,  but 
the  sad  review  of  the  past  continued  in  its  sullen  course, 
and  the  wholesale  destruction  of  human  life  caused  or 
directed  by  Dominicans,  Jesuits,  or  Inquisitors  General ; 
by  Torquemada,  by  Diego  Deza,  by  Spanish  Kings,  such 


62 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


'I 


as  Chas.  I.  and  Philip  II.,  and  by  the  monster  Alva,  who 
slaughtered  thousands  in  the  Netherlands,  simply  on  ac- 
count of  a  difference  of  opinion  in  matters  of  faith,  induced 
the  most  painful  reflections,  and  seemed  to  verify  a  remark 
which  she  was  surprised  to  hear  her  father  once  make— 
"That  Christianity  had  already  cost  the  world  over  fifty 
millions  of  human  lives." 

Christianity  ?  Impossible  l  The  faith  of  a  true  Christian 
led  all  to  bear  reproach,  to  forgive  enemies,  and  to  be 
kindly  affectionate,  one  to  another ;  even  that  faith  in  its 
most  adulterated  form  was  superior  to  anything  that  Pa- 
ganism had  produced ;  and  were  the  whole  world  control- 
led by  its  inspired  maxims,  what  love,  joy  and  peace 
might  exist  among  men ;  and  then  there  would  be  no 
more  war,  no  more  dissension,  no  more  persecution.  Alas ! 
how  stern  is  history  in  dealing  with  many  of  our  fondest 
delusions ;  and  how  many  thousands  are  rudely  awakened 
to  discover  that  religious  devotion  is  too  often  the  prolific 
parent  of  debasing  sux)erstition  and  cruelty. 

While  thinking  thus  fondly  of  the  just  tendency  of  her 
faith,  she  sat  before  a  window,  and  in  the  full  light  was 
looking  intently  at  what  appeared  to  be  a  coin  or  medal 
of  antiquated  appearance,  which  she  had  just  selected 
from  a  numismatic  collection  belonging  to  her  father. 
Now  she  turns  the  piece  in  her  hand ;  it  is  a  small  medal, 
an  ornament  which  was  perhaps  once  proudly  worn  or 
displayed  in  the  olden  time  by  some  pious  young  Christian 
lady  in  holiday  attire.  It  was  a  medal  made  to  commem- 
orate a  distinguished  triumph  of  the  Church  over  its 
enemies ;  and  though  its  primitive  wearer  had  grown  from 
youth  to  age,  and  had  long  since  passed  away,  yet  there 
was  the  identical  memorial  still  left  to  tell  again  of  its  own 
origin.  Miss  Meade  once  more  holds  it  out  from  her ;  now 
draws  it  closer  and  lays  it  down.  She  takes  it  up  again, 
and  on  looking  closely  at  the  obverse  aide,  she  sees  the 
stamped  effigy  of  a  Boman  Pontiff  in  cap  and  buttoned 
cape,  and  around  it  the  words,  *'  Gregorius  XIII.  Pont. 
Max.  An.  I. ;"  and  then  on  turning  the  reverse  side,  she 


n 


% 


TBS  HEATHElfS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


68 


Alva,  who 
ply  on  ac- 
h,  induced 
yr  a  remark 
ee  make— 

I  over  fifty 

3  Christian 
and  to  be 
faith  in  its 
ig  that  Pa- 
Id  control- 
and  peace 
ould  be  no 
ion.  Alas ! 
)ur  fondest 
y  awakened 
the  prolific 

3ncy  of  her 

II  light  was 
or  medal 

st  selected 
her  father, 
lall  medal, 
ly  worn  or 
Christian 
commem- 
ih  over  its 
rown  from 
,  yet  there 
of  its  own 
her;  now 
|t  up  again, 
6  sees  the 
buttoned 
II.  Pont. 
le  side,  she 


finds  the  representation  of  a  furious  winged  angel  with  a 
cross  exalted  in  one  hand,  and  a  sword  in  the  other,  pur- 
suing and  slaying  heretics,  while  surrounded  by  the  dead 
and  the  dying ;  and  over  all  this  she  could  read  the  signifi- 
cant inscription :    "  Hugonitorum  Strages  1572."* 

Being  in  a  contemplative  raood,  and  while  her  gaze  ia 
Hyed  upon  the  old  medal,  the  veil  is  again  lifted  and  she 
finds  herself  almost  in  the  centre  of  a  large  city— a  Chris- 
tian capital,  too ;  for  there  are  many  great  churches  and 
tall  steeples,  and  numerous  crosses,  some  of  which  are  up 
alone  among  the  scattered  night-clouds;  while  others 
gleam  in  the  clear  moonlight  of  the  open  sky.  It  is  ap- 
proaching the  hour  of  riidnight,  the  air  is  calm  and  genial, 
and  there  are  many  sleepers  in  the  quiet  houses  around. 
There  are  but  few  revelers  to  be  seen  in  the  streets,  yet 
occasional  sounds  of  distant  music  and  festivity  reach  the 
ear.  The  city  must  be  gay,  for  it  contains  thousands  of 
invited  strangers  who  had  come  to  witness  the  royal  mar- 
riage which  recently  took  place ;  but  many  of  the  wearied 
are  now  seeking  repose,  and  the  proud  Parisian  metropolis 
is  comparatively  still.  But  why  are  those  armed  bands 
moving  around,  and  whither  at  this  late  hour  moves  that 
column  of  soldiers,  whose  weapons  reflect  the  moon- 
^beams  ?  It  Is  not  a  time  of  war,  yet  armed  groups  of  citi- 
Izens  are  to  be  seen  at  almost  every  street  corner;  and  a 
Uarge  number  of  troops  are  assembled  near  the  royal  pal- 
lace.  But  hark !  the  clock  strikes  twelve— it  is  midnight— 
the  bell  in  the  tower  of  the  Louvre  quickly  tolls  aloud  in 
the  clear  air,  and  the  lone  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  is  heard  in 
the  distance.  There  are  loud  shouts  and  confusion ;  there 
lis  a  rush  of  armed  fanatics  into  a  chamber  where  a  wound- 
jd  man  is  seeking  repose ;  he  is  guarded  by  several  Swiss 
loldiers  who  are  speedily  cut  down  by  the  assassins  that 
|have  entered;  the  wounded  man— the  Huguenot  leader, 
idmiral  Coligny— is  brutally  murdered,  and  his  mutilated 

•  In  pulling  down  the  old  mint  building,  Gowgate  Edinburg.  a 
[specimen  of  the  medal  struck  by  Oregory  XIII.  to  commemorate  the 
!  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  was  discovered. 


TW 


54 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


body  tumbled  out  of  a  window  into  the  street,  to  be  drag- 
ged about  by  an  infuriated  populace.  Shots  and  heavy 
flrjrg,  and  shrieks  and  cries  of  distress  are  now  heard 
irery  moment.  Huguenots,  trying  to  escape,  rush  franti- 
cally through  the  streets,  but  are  pursued  and  slaughtered 
by  the  yelling  savages  that  follow,  or  are  shot  down  from 
the  windows  of  the  houses.  Numbers  of  the  pursued, 
believing  that  the  king  would  surely  protect  them,  hurry 
onwards  to  the  Louvre,  but  Charles,  the  monarch  of 
France,  is  firing  on  them,  his  own  people,  from  an  '  ^er 
window  of  the  palace,  while  several  of  his  attendants  are 
constantly  loading  guns  to  enable  him  to  shoot  a  greater 
number  of  his  Protestant  subjects. 

All  night  long  the  slaughter  continues,  and  fugitives 
are  hunted  from  place  to  place  in  every  quarter  of  the 
city.  By  grey  dawn  the  streets  are  encumbered  with  the 
murdered,  and  the  river  Seine  is  glutted  with  the  dead 
bodies  cast  into  it;  and  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  of 
August,  1572,  the  sun  shone  down  upon  bloody  pavements 
and  upon  heaps  of  intermingled  dead  and  dying,  even 
around  the  very  palace  of  the  Louvre ;  and  soon  as  the 
butchery  was  over,  Catherine  de  Medici,  of  pious  memory, 
queen  dowager  of  France,  gazed  with  satisfaction  upon  the 
havoc,  and  the  King  himself  went  out  to  see  the  hated 
slain,  and  to  look  upon  the  disfigured  body  ot  Coligny,  to 
whom  he  had  promised  friendship  and  protection ;  and 
while  stooping  over  his  slaughtered  people  he  expressed 
his  pious  felicity  by  saying  that  the  "smell  of  a  dead 
enemy  was  agreeable."  Special  orders  were  then  given  to 
continue  the  carnage,  and  the  "Agents  of  Divine  Justice" 
in  their  eagerness  to  advance  the  True  Faith,  deUiged 
many  of  the  French  provinces  with  blood,  until  the  exposed 
corpses  of  over  thirty  thousand  human  beings  tainted  the 
air  and  produced  wide  spread  infection.  The  Parliament 
of  France  publicly  eulogized  the  conduct  of  his  Christian 
majesty,  and  the  King  and  the  Court  returned  thanks 
to  God  for  His  signal  aid  in  crushing  out  so  much  heresy. 

In  great  haste  a  messenger  is  despatched  to  another 


to  be  drag- 
and  heavy 
now  heard 
rush  franti- 
ilaughtered 
down  from 
le  pursued, 
hem,  hurry 
Qonarch  of 
m  an '  .er 
iudants  are 
3t  a  greater 

d  fugitives 

rter  of  the 

3d  with  the 

ti  the  dead 

the  25th  of 

pavements 

ying,  even 

oon  as  the 

IS  memory, 

n  upon  the 

the  hated 

oHgny,  to 

ction ;  and 

expressed 

of  a  dea'l 

n  given  to 

e  Justice" 


1. 


deUiged 


le  exposed 
ainted  the 
arliament 
Christian 
3d  thanlcs 
:^h  heresy. 
0  another 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


55 


I  city.  The  news  of  the  slaughter  at  Paris,  and  in  other 
parts  of  France,  is  the  cause  of  much  joy  and  congratula- 
tion even  within  the  sacred  walls  of  St.  Peters.  The  wel- 
come words  of  the  king's  message  which  said  that  "the 
Seine  flowed  on  more  majestically  after  receiving  the  dead 
bodies  of  the  heretics,"  is  received  by  the  Roman  Pontiff 
with  expressions  of  high  approval.  The  joy  in  Rome  is 
great ;  and  Pope  Gregory,  the  **  Vicar  of  Christ,"  attended 
by  his  cardinals,  goes  in  grand  procession  to  the  Chnrch 
of  St.  Louis  to  sing  "Te  Deum  laudamus,"  and  to  return 
special  thanks  to  God  for  the  triumph  just  gained  over 
the  enemies  of  His  holy. Church.  The  Pope's  legate  in 
France  iu  instructed  to  felicitate  "the  most  Christian 
King  Charles,"  and  to  assure  him  that  his  Holiness 
"praised  the  exploit  so  long  meditated  and  so  happily 
executed  for  the  good  of  religion."  So  important  for  the 
advancement  of  the  Faith  is  the  slaughter  at  Paris  consid- 
ered, that  Pope  Gregory  orders  medals  to  be  struck  in 
honor  of  the  happy  event,  and  the  medal  at  which  Esther 
Meade  is  still  looking  is  one  of  those  designed  by  the  head 
of  the  Christian  Church  to  commemorate  the  dreadful 
massacre  of  the  Huguenots  at  Paris  on  St.  Bartholomew's 
[day. 

So  far  the  sickening  remembrances  had  been  of  perse- 
tion  by  the  Cathf)lic  Church,  and  Miss  Meade  would 
ave  made  a  plea  for  the  reformed  faith  by  trying  to  im- 
gine  that  it  was  free  from  the  contaminations  of  Rome, 
nd  therefore  not  subject  to  the  abominable  charge  of 
fanatical  cruelty.  She  would  even  have  charitably  shield- 
ed the  Popish  religion  from  the  terrible  a<*cusations 
(brought  against  it,  but  she  was  reluctantly  forced  to  admit 
hat  that  religion  had  almost  desolated  the  earth;  and 
hat  the  whole  system  of  paganism  had  never  eqiidled  the 
trocities  committed  by  the  so-called  "Mother  Church." 
wished  to  believe  that  no  creed  whatever  emanating 
■from  Christianity,  could  ever  be  so  debased  as  to  punish 
unto  death  for  opinion's  sake,  but  not  being  able  to  escape 
from  historical  facts,  she  hoped  to  And  competent  author- 


tiif! 


mm\f 


\  \ 


56 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ity  to  place  the  burden  of. that  iniquity  upon  Rome.  Bui 
what  said  the  same  history  as  to  the  absurd  ideas,  the 
conflicting  doctrines,  the  bitter  dissentions,  and  the  fierce 
persecutions  by  the  adherents  of  Protestantism?  Why 
that  Luther,  the  great  reformer,  was  so  superstitious  as  to 
believe  that  epidemic  diseases,  earthquakes,  and  other 
evils,  were  produced  by  the  direct  agency  of  Satan.  He 
believed  that  the  Devil  had  often  disturbed  him  at  night ; 
he  believed  in  astrology,  and  that  the  peculiar  appearance 
of  the  northern  lights  on  a  certain  night,  indicated  the 
speedy  approach  of  the  end  of  sublunary  things.  He  was 
an  intolerant  bigot,  and  inveterate  against  those  who  op- 
posed him  •  he  would  have  shed  the  blood  of  the  Pope  and 
the  bishops ;  he  even  looked  upon  such  reformers  as  Carl- 
stadt,  Erasmus,  and  Zwingle,  as  rank  heretics,  and,  judged 
by  his  own  words,  he  would,  in  support  of  his  own  crude 
faith,  have  taken  human  life.  Luther  exhibited  great 
inhumanity  towards  the  Anabaptists,  and  his  disposition 
against  them  may  be  inferred  by  an  extract  of  a  letter 
which  he  addressed  to  his  friend,  Myconius ;  he  wrote :  *  I 
am  pleased  that  you  intend  to  publish  a  book  against  the 
Anabaptists  as  soon  as  possible.  Since  they  are  not  only 
blasphemous,  but  seditious  men,  let  the  sword  exercise  its 
right  over  them.  For  this  is  the  will  of  God,  that  He  shall 
have  judgment  who  resisteth  the  power."  Luther,  even 
Luther,  therefore  wanted  only  sutTficient  strength  and 
authority  to  be  a  theological  despot  and  a  persecutor. 

And  what  of  Calvin,  the  great  French  reformer  V*    Ho 
was  a  gloomy  fanatic,  who,  filled  with  impious  zeal,  advo- 


"•S' 


if 


•  In  a  8«rmon.  preached  at  Dundee,  Scotland,  the  preacher,  a 
Presbyterian  minister  made  the  following  remarks  on  Calvin: 

"He  was  harsh,  narrow,  dogmatic,  cold.  '?i'.wl.  The  system  of 
l>olity  established  while  he  lived  in  Geneva,  was  worse  tlian  that 
which  prevailed  in  Naples,  under  Bomba.  It  was  a  system  of  brutal 
cruelty.  One  James  Gruet,  for  writing  some  loose  vorses  was  behead- 
ed. Even  little  boys  and  girls  were  liable  to  capital  pitnishment  for 
trivial  oflTences.  And  need  he  name  Servetus.  a  name  which  despite 
the  one-sided  sophistry  of  Oalvin't!  defenders,  rested  like  ft  bloody 
blot  ju  that  reformer's  urow." 


Rome.  But 
1  ideas,  the 
id  the  fierce 
ism?  Why 
titious  as  to 
.  and  other 

Satan.  He 
im  at  night ; 
appearance 
idicated  the 
gs.  He  was 
ose  who  op- 
tie  Pope  and 
lers  as  Garl- 
and, judged 
i  own  crude 
ibited  great 

disposition 
;  of  a  letter 
le  wrote :  "  I 

against  the 
|re  not  only 

exercise  its 

at  He  shall 
ther,  even 

ength  and 

ecutor. 
erV*    Ho 

zeal,  advo- 


preacher,  a 
3alvin: 

le  system  of 
36  tlian  that 

3m  of  brutal 
I  was  behead - 
lishment  for 

ilch  despite 
Ike  ft  bloody 


THIi  HEATHElJS  01'  THE  flEAttt. 


.67 


I 


cated  and  defended  the  burning  of  the  unfortunate 
Servetua  for  heresy;  and  he  gloried  over  the  infamous 
deed  when  he  wrote:  "Whoever  shall  contend  that  it  is 
unjust  to  put  heretics  and  blasphemers  to  death,  will  will- 
ingly and  knowingly  incur  their  very  guilt.  This  rule  is 
not  laid  down  by  human  authority,  but  it  is  God  himself 
who  speaks."  Another  reformer,  the  "meek  Melanc- 
thon,"  approved  of  the  vile  act,  and  declared  that  the  body 
of  Servetus  should  have  been  chopped  to  pieces,  and  his 
bowels  torn  out. 

Munzer,  a  disciple  of  Luther,  a  leader  and  a  preacher 
of  the  Anabaptists,  was  a  reckless  agitator.  Dissatisfied 
with  the  holy  measures  of  the  reformers ;  he  pulled  down 
the  images  which  Luther  had  left  standing  in  the  churches ; 
he  proclaimed  a  community  of  goods,  and  incited  his  fol- 
lowers to  plunder  the  houses  of  the  wealthy;  and,  finally 
at  the  head  of  about  forty  thousand  turbulent  fanatics,  he 
ravaged  the  whole  country,  and  brought  destruction  upon 
himself  and  many  of  his  unreasoning  dupes. 

Overlooking  many  other  scenes  of  religious  infatuation 
and  cruelty  which  occurred  on  the  Continent,  the  spectre 
of  memory  moves  on  and  overshadows  England;  and 
there,  too,  the  fury  of  religious  strife  is  producing  its 
blighting  effects.  The  Christian  sect  has  been  almost  an- 
4iihilated ;  and  frantic  zealots  are  in  the  arena.  Episco- 
X^alians,  Presbyterians  and  Independents,  are  pursuing  one 
another  with  deadly  hostility.  Archbishop  Laud,  like  an 
Inquisitor  General  in  the  Star  Chamber,  is  furious  against 
seceders  and  non-conformists ;  and  in  his  holy  wrath  he 
crops  the  ears,  slits  the  noses,  and  otherwise  mutilates 
disaffected  Puritans.  Whatever  sect  is  in  temporary  power, 
and  most  patronized  by  rulers  or  by  royalty,  is  always 
most  oppressive ;  and  during  several  reigns,  according  as 
Prelacy,  or  Puritanism,  or  Presbyterianism  predominates, 
the  mutual  struggle  for  ascendency  devastates  the  land ; 
and  their  deep  hatred  of  one  another,  as  well  as  their 
common  hatred  of  Popery,  is  productive  of  horrible  atro- 
cities. There  is  hanging,  and  burning,  and  quartering,  and 


t» 


^B£  BEAtHE^S  OE  TBi:  BfiATB. 


it 


disemboweling,  in  almost  every  part  of  the  kingdom,  in 
behalf  of  what  is  for  the  time,  the  "  True  Faith ; "  and  the 
knife,  the  axe,  the  rack,  and  the  fagot,  are  readily  put  to 
fearful  use  even  in  Old  England. 

In  Ireland  the  penal  laws  against  Roman  Catholics  were 
most  shamefully  applied.  This  terrible  code  consisted  of 
over  one  hundred  acts  of  Parliament,  solely  enacted  for 
the  express  purpose  of  enforcing  Protestant  doctrines.  A 
Catholic  schoolmaster  dared  not  teach ;  and  neither  Cath- 
olic nor  Protestant  teachers  were  permitted  to  instruct 
Catholic  children.  A  Catholic  priest  dared  not  reside  in 
the  country  without  special  permission,  and  a  reward  was 
offered  for  the  discovery  of  any  priest  or  bishop  not  reg- 
istered as  having  license  as  such.  A  Catholic  priest  con- 
victed of  having  performed  any  religious  ceremony,  or  of 
having  married  a  Catholic  and  a  Protestant,  was  condemn- 
ed to  be  hanged ;  and  all  marriages  between  Catholics  and 
Protestants  were  annulled.  A  wife  on  becoming  a  Protes- 
tant could  take  the  entire  property  of  her  husband ;  and  a 
son,  by  a  1  ke  change  of  faith,  might  dispossess  his  father. 
There  were  many  other  similar  enactments,  and  Catholics 
of  every  degree  were  sorely  oppressed ;  and  for  the  least 
unfriendliness,  or  resistance  to  most  arbitrary. laws,  were 
liable  to  ruinous  forfeitures  or  death ;  and  the  most  inhu- 
man cruelty  and  slaughter  often  followed.  During  the 
long  period  of  this  terrible  oppression  in  Ireland,  thous- 
ands were  sent  to  bloody  and  untimely  graves,  and  if  the 
persecutions  by  Protestants  have  not  been,  perhaps,  as 
infamously  extensive  as  those  of  Catholics,  it  was  only 
because  the  venomous  power  of  Protestantism  was  too 
divided,  or  too  limited.  Protestantism,  as  well  as  Catho- 
licity, possessed  the  genuine  spirit,  the  vicious  animus, 
of  intolerance,  and  needed  only  the  requisite  strength  and 
domination,  to  equal,  or  even  to  surpass,  in  oppression 
and  savage  cruelty,  all  that  had  been  done  by  the  imperi- 
ous ecclesiastical  power  of  Rome. 

Were  the  angel  of  Destruction  required  to  speak  for  the 
many  slain  of  every  land,  he  might  say  that  the  most 


"tS 


¥Hfi  fiEATHSKS  Of  THE  BEATB. 


59 


ingdom,  In 
; "  and  the 
idily  put  to 

holies  were 

onsisted  of 

snacted  for 

ctrines.    A 

Ither  Cath- 

to  instruct 

•t  reside  in 

eward  was 

p  not  reg- 

priest  con- 

lony,  or  of 

condemn- 

holics  and 

a  Protes- 

nd ;  and  a 

his  father. 

Catholics 

the  least 

aws,  were 

lost  inhu- 

uring  the* 

nd,  thous- 

md  if  the 

)rhaps,  as 

was  only 

I  was  too 

as  Catho- 

I  animus, 

ngth  and 

jpression 

e  imperi- 


dreadful  wars  which  have  taken  place  in  every  part  of  the 
globe,  were  caused  by  intriguing  priests,  or  by  the  viru- 
lence of  religious  feeling.  And  were  it  possible  for  an 
angel  of  Peace  to  re-animate  the  myriads  of  slaughtered 
men,  he  might  plead  that  they  should  be  placed  in  some 
world  where  there  was  no  priest,  no  prophet,  no  altar,  and 
no  temple ;  and  where  it  would  be  coasidered  the  vilest 
blasphemy  to  assert  tlw-t  the  Supreme  Being  could  be 
influenced  and  governed  by  passions  alike  to  those  of  man 
—by  anger,  by  hatred,  by  revenge.  And  the  angel  might 
then,  perhaps,  reveal  an  unwelcome  truth  by  announcing 
to  all,  to  the  Pagan,  to  the  Chrii^tian,  and  to  the  Moham- 
medan, that  priests,  and  their  prehensions,  and  their 
inspired  books,  had  as  yet  only  misled  humanity. 


IPIP 


CHAPTER    VII. 


"the  christian  at  work." 


e  . 

■'i 

'i 

■'a 

T17EARIED  by  .these  sad  reflections,  Miss  Meade 
'  '  sought  a  little  relaxation.  Her  father  had  been 
absent  all  day,  and  now  it  beiriT  evening  time,  she  set 
out  to  pay  a  visit  to  old  Sarah  Afton,  whose  cottage  wa., 
but  a  short  distance  from  the  parsonage.  She  found  its 
inmate  at  her  spinning  wheel,  and,  as  usual,  in  a  .con- 
versable mood.  Old  Sarah,  though  very  credulous  and 
superstitious,  -was  rather  intelligent.  She  lived  almost 
alone,  her  only  household  companion  being  a  little  orphan 
girl. 

"Eh,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  young  lady;  I'm  glad 
you've  called  again*;  I've  had  scarcely  a  visitor,  and  I've 
been  a  bit  lonesome.  Bless  you,  take  a  seat  near  me,  and 
let  me  see  your  pleasant  face.  I've  been  thinking  of  old 
times— and  what  times  there  are  to  think  of,  to  be  sure— 
and  this  very  day  brings  something  sorrowful  to  my  mind 
—it  is  an  eventful  day  even  in  my  own  poor  life." 

"  Oh,  nothing,  I  trust,  very  serious,  mother  ?  **  said  Miss 
Meade. 

"Mother!  ah,  you  always  call  me  mother;  'tis  a  pleasant 
name.  I  think  every  woman  would  like  to  be  called 
mother,  and  to  be  a  mother,  though  I've  never  been  one 
—nor  even  a  wife.  Well,  deary ,-.'tis  sometimes  sad  even 
to  think.  Almost  every  memory  seems  mournful  to  the 
aged,  and,  as  I  am  now  long  past  life's  three  score  years 
and  ten,  my  thoughts  are  often  bleak  enough.    Ah  me! 


THB  BEATfiENS  Of  TBE  BEATH. 


61 


■■i» 


Iis3  Meade 
3r  had  been 
ime,  she  set 
cottage  wa-:, 
he  found  its 
,1,  in  a  .con- 
edulous  and 
ived  almost 
ittle  orphan 

;  I'm  glad 
or,  and  I've 
ear  me,  and 
iking  of  old 
to  be  sure  — 
to  my  mind 
e." 

**  said  Miss 

8  a  pleasant 
be  called 
r  been  one 
s  sad  even 
nful  to  the 
core  years 
1.    Ah  mol 


all  I  used  to  know  at  your  age,  where  are  they  V  Only  one 
poor  old  soul  left— only  one ;  except  my  sister's  grand-son, 
and  'tis  hard  to  tell  on  what  part  of  the  wide  ocean  he  is 
just  now.  But,  sweet  lady,  I  will  not  burden  your  cheer- 
ful mind  with  any  troubles  of  the  past.  Yo»  know  your 
good  father  sometimes  tells  us,  that '  sufficient  to  the  day 
is  the  evil  thereof.*  " 

"  Well,  but  you  may  tell  me  your  troubles,  mother, 
unless  you  v/ish  to  keep  them  a  secret;  we  all  have  sor- 
rowful thoughts  at  times ;  and  a  grief  may  be  blunted  by 
telling  it  to  a  friend." 

"  I  have  few  secrets  from  you,  deary— few  indeed  from 
anybody,  I  have  told  you  about  many  of  the  sad  acts  that 
took  place  hereabouts,  years  ago ;  I've  shown  you  the  spots 
where  poor  creatures  were  killed,  and  when  we  walked 
over  there  among  the  old  graves,  where  many  a  monk  lies 
buried,  I've  shown  you  where  they  said  that  martyrs 
were  burnt ;  and  you  know  the  lone  spot  where  I  told  you 
that  my  great-grandfather  lost  his  life,  don't  you  ?  " 

Miss  Meade  nodded  assent,  and  old  Sarah  went  on. 

"  "Well,  its  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  this  very  second  of 
May,  since  that  poor  man  met  his  end ;  and,  strange  to 
tell,  about  a  hundred  years  before  that,  on  the  very  same 
day  of  the  month,  too,  his  grandfather  was  shot  by  Claver- 
house." 

"  By  Claverhouse  ?  "  Miss  Meade  interrogated,  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  such  a  name. 

"  Yes,  by  the  *  bluidy  Claverhouse,'  as  the  Scotch  called 
him.  He  overtook  the  poor  man  and  two  other  Covenan- 
tors out'on  a  moor,  and  he  ordered  his  troopers  to  shoot 
them ;  the  three  graves  are  there  to  this  day." 

"  Yes,  I  now  remember,"  said  Miss  Meade.  "  The  Cov- 
enanters suffered  terribly  in  the  south,  and  in  the  west  of 
Scotland;  the  Prelatists  were  their  bitter  persecutors." 

"  Aye,  deary,  there  are  many  graves  all  over  those  wild 
moors.  The  Covenanters,  poor  bodies,  were  hunted  from 
place  to  place  by  day  and  by  night ;  Claverhouse  and  his 
troopers  gave  them  little  rest.    You  know  that  the  Prot- 


^ 


f  ttE  HKATHSI^S  Of  TBC  BfiAttt. 


l\ 

■  ".  ! 


'■     i 


Ml- 


estant  curates  of  those  days— not  like  some  of  our  good 
curates— were  a  set  of  carousing,  godless  men,  who  wanted 
to  force  all  to  attend  the  parish  church ;  and  in  order  to 
find  out  the  ones  that  went  to  Conventicles,  they  gave  the 
sojers  the  rfames  of  almost  every  one  in  a  parish ;  the 
sojers  stood  outside  the  church  on  Sundays,  and  took 
down  the  names  of  the  folks  that  came  out,  and  all  they 
found  absent  were  at  once  marked  suspected.  The 
'  bluidy  council,  *  as  it  was  called,  that  sat  in  Edinboro', 
ordered  the  sojers  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  curates,  and 
then  Claverhouse  and  his  troopers  did  the  rest.  Ah  me ! 
There  were  curious  warnings  given  in  those  times  of  what 
was  going  to  happen.  Armed  horseman  used  to  be  seen 
galloping  up  steep  hills  that  a  goat  could  hardly  climb, 
men  without  heads  used  to  be  seen  standing  in  lonesome 
places ;  blood  spots  would  come  in  bibles  while  some  poor 
body  was  reading ;  and  crowds  of  sojers  would  be  seen 
marching  through  the  moors,  and  then  vanishing  in  a 
moment.  This  is  what  was  known  in  Scotland  as  the 
'  killing  time,'  and  the  poor  Covenanters  had  to  flee  to  the 
glens,  and  the  moors,  and  to  caves,  and  other  wild  places, 
but  the-  were  watched,  and  hunted,  and  slaughtered,  day 
and  night  without  mercy ;  and  often,  after  they  had  met 
to  worship  in  some  dark  glen,  Claverhouse  would  pounce 
upon  them  unexpectedly,  and  then  there  was  bloody 
work. 

"  They  prayed  on  the  hillside,  and  sun^  in  the  glen, 

In  wilds  far  remote  from  the  scofflngs  of  men ; 

Yet  the  friends  of  the  Lord,  oft  in  pitiful  plight. 

Had  to  flee  from  the  foe  in  the  dead  of  the  night.    * 

A  sweet  Sabbath  came,  and  the  saints  met  once  more. 
To  pray  in  the  desert  like  others  of  yore ; 
But  the  troopers  rushed  on  them,  by  Claverhouse  led. 
There  were  graves  to  be  dug  for  the  dying  and  dead.  " 


W 


Old  Sarah  repeated  these  verses  from  memory.  "Ah 
me!  "  she  continued,  "but  it  was  dreadful  to  hear  tell  of 
it.  They  tried  every  way  to  discover  the  hiding  places  of 
the  poor  creatures. 


¥fi£  fiCAffiENS  OF  tUB  BEAtlt. 


63 


The  dragoons  once  took  a  little  boy  of  ten  years,  and 
as  he  would  not  tell  them  where  his  father  was,  they  tied 
a  cord  round  his  thumbs,  and  suspended  the  terrified  lad 
before  his  mother,  and,  though  he  was  in  great  agony,  he 
would  tell  them  nothing;  they  then  held  his  face  over  a 
large  fire  till  his  eyes  were  ready  to  start  out,  and  his  ten- 
der skin  to  crack,  yet  still  he  would  not  answer ;  he  was 
then  dragged  outside  and  the  soldiers  told  him  they  would 
blow  out  his  brains.  They  took  another  boy  and  tied  a 
cord  round  his  brow,  and  twisted  it  with  the  butt  end  of  a 
pistol,  till  the  flesh  was  cut  through  to  the  bone,  so  that 
the  poor  boy  died.  When  they  didn't  kill  outright  they 
tortured  men  and  women  in  many  ways.  They  stifled 
them  in  crowded  vaults,  they  tied  men  down  upon  their 
backs,  and  put  lighted  matches  between  the  fingers  of 
both  hands,  until  their  very  finger  bones  were  sometimes 
burnt  to  ashes ;  and  many  others  were  starved  to  death  in 
prison.*  'Tis  dreadful  to  think  of,  young  lady;  for  they 
often  killed  womea  as  well  as  men.  I've  also  heard  tell 
of  how  they  shot  poor  Marion  Cameron  at  Cumnock. 
This  poor  thing,  with  a  few  other  women,  were  singing 
hymns  in  a  green  hollow  place  in  the  moss  of  Daljig,  when 
a  lot  of  troopers  came  along  by  chance,  and  shot  them 
all.  They  were  buried  side  by  side  on  the  moor.  But  I 
think  that  the  murder  of  poor  Driesthill,  or  John  Brown, 
the  pious  carrier,  was  one  of  the  most  dreadful.  The  poor 
man,  having  risen  early,  went  out  to  dig ;  he  was  suddenly 
seized  by  a  company  of  horsemen,  who  drove  him  befpre 
them.  Isabel,  his  wife,  on  looking  out,  saw  him,  and, 
snatching  up  her  infant,  exclaimed,  "O!  Lord,  give  me 


of 


♦  Dunnotar  was  a  noted  place  for  the  persecution  of  Covenanters. 
There  is  a  tombstone  in  the  church  yard  of  that  place  bearincr  the 
following  inscription: 

"  Here  lie  John  Scott,  James  Aitchison,  James  Russel.  and  William 
Brown,  and  one  whose  name  wo  have  not  gotten :  and  two  women 
also  whose  names  we  know  not.  and  two  who  perished  doune  the 
rook ;  and  one  whose  name  was  James  Watson,  the  other  not  known, 
who  all  died  prisoners  in  Dunnotar  Castle,  Anno  1685,  for  their  adher- 
ence to  the  Word  of  God  and  Scotland's  Covenanted  work  of  Reform- 
ation." 


64 


THE  HEAtllENa  OP  THE  HEATfi. 


grace  for  this  hotir."  She  went  out,  and  for  the  first  time 
saw  the  dreaded  Claverhouse;  and  then  she  knew  her 
Kreat  trial  had  come.  Her  husband  was  told  to  kueel  on 
the  wet  sod,  and  to  prepare  for  death.  The  poor  man 
knelt  down  with  great  calmness,  and  prayed  long  for  his 
enemies  before  him ;  he  then  pleaded  pitifully  for  his  wife 
and  children,  and  then  he  embraced  them  tenderly,  and 
left  them  to  God.  Many  of  the  rough  soldiers  had  tears 
in  their  eyes,  and  would  have  wept  outright,  only  they 
were  afraid.  Claverhouse  was  impatient  at  so  much  de- 
lay, and  told  his  men  to  fire.  The  pieces  were  leveled— 
there  was  a  pause— poor  Isabel's  sobs  were  alone  heard, 
but  not  a  gun  went  off;  the  poor  man  before  them,  still 
calmly  bowed  and  kneeling,  awaiting  his  fate. 

"  God  bless  your  tender  hearts,"  said  the  weeping 
woman.  "O!  spare  him  to  us,  and  the  Lord  will  have 
mercy  on  you  another  day.  Spare  him,  good  men,  for  the 
sake  of  his  poor  children !  "  The  savage  Claverhouse  then 
grow  furious ;  he  swore  fearfully  against  the  soldiers,  and 
rudely  pushed  Isabel  aside ;  he  placed  his  pistol  '3lose  to 
the  ear  of  the  kneeling  man,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 

When  the  deed  was  done,  Claverhouse  shouted  out, 
"  What  thinkest  thou  of  thy  husband  now,  woman  ?"  "  I 
ever  thought  muckle  gude  of  him,"  said  she,  "and  now 
mair  than  ever. "  "It  would  be  but  justice  to  lay  thee  beside 
him,"  replied  Claverhouse.  "I  doubt  not,  replied  she, 
"  but  your  cruelty  would  lead  you  to  that  length ;  but  how 
will  you  answer  to  God  for  this  morning's  work  ? "  "To 
man  alone,"  he  said,  "  I  can  be  answerable ;  as  for  God, 
will  take  him  in  my  own  hands."  After  the  dep-""'  rf 
the  troopers,  poor  Isabel  tied  up  the  shattered  i  of 

her  husband  with  a  napkin,  and  then  drawing  i  chil- 
dren to  her,  she  wept  with  them  long  and  loud  ovei  th 
mangled  body,  and  for  the  time  would  not  be  comforted. 
Poor,  poor  woman,  she  needed  God  to  comfort  her  then ; 
and  strange  to  tell,  the  whole  thing  was  foretold  to  her 
the  day  of  her  wedding ;  the  minister,  a  Mr.  Peden,  said, 
'•  Isabel  Weir,  Isabel  Weir,  keep  a  winding  sheet  beside 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


66 


eeping 
1  have 
[OT  the 
e  then 
s,  and 
ose  to 
s. 
out, 

"I 

d  now 
aside 

she, 
t  how 

"To 
itod, 
.f 
.  of 

chil- 
li th 
^rted. 
phen; 
her 
[said, 

3sido 


you,  for  it  may  be  hastily  needed  some  misty  morning ;  " 
and  alas  I  so  it  was.* 

Throughout  the  sad  recital,  Miss  Meade  was  much 
affected.  The  simple  narrative  had  readily  touched  her 
heart ;  but  then  she  had  to  remember  with  some  reluct- 
ance, that  many  of  the  persecuted  Covenanters  who  had 
escaped  from  Scotland,  and  most  of  the  oppressed  Puri- 
tans who  had  left  England,  after  having  landed  at  Ply- 
mouth Rock  in  America,  and  in  their  eager  desire  to  force 
their  faith,  or  their  i)oc;iliar  doctrines  on  others,  had 
united  to  establish  an  iron  rule  of  religious  despotism ; 
the  infamous  Blue  Laws  had  been  enacted  by  them ; 
they  had  burnt  so-called*  witches ;  they  had  despoiled, 
mutilated,  and  hung  unoffending  Quakers,  and  for  many 
years  their  course  had  been  one  of  brutal  fanaticism  In 
the  land  of  their  adoption.  So  atrocious  were  moat  of 
their  proceedings,  that  the  name  of  Puritan  is  now  held 
by  many  as  the  synonym  for  bigotry  and  Intolerance. 

Just  as  old  Sarah  had  ceased  speaking,  she  looked  at  a 
shadow  which  moved  slowly  along  the  little  winding 
pathway  close  to  the  cottage.  In  a  few  moments  a  very 
old,  grey-headed  man  stood  bent  before  them  in  the  open 
doorway.  As  he  leaned  with  both  hands  upon  his  staff, 
the  few  thin,  white  hairs  whlcte  hung  below  his  broad 
brimmed  hat  were  scarcly  stirred  by  the  evening  air ;  but 
the  Setting  sun  which  fell  upon  his  meek,  sad  face,  had 
burnished  his  scanty  locks,  as  If  to  restore  the  golden 
hue  which  they  had  In  his  boyhood.  Old  Sarah  got 
up  Immediately  and  went  to  meet  him  at  the  door ;  he 
Kontly  took  her  extended  hand,  and  she  led  him  to  a  seat 
by  her  side.  The  old  man's  smile  was  radiant  as  he  bow- 
ed to  Miss  Meade ;  and  he  muttered  some  words  of  thanks 
to  Sarah. 

"  Well,  Stephen,  I  thought  you  had  forgot  me ;  you've 
been  away  nearly  two  days,  and  you  know  that  on  this 
day,  above  all  others,  you  should  have  |^en  here  early. 

*  See  Wodrow's  Hist  of  Porseoution  of  Scottish  Oovenanters. 


m 


^ 


6e 


TBS  BSATBfiKS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


K-!-4:,*l 


V 


■i^i 


Nearly  two  days  is  a  long  time  for  me  not  to  see  you, 
Stephen;  a  long  time,  when  time  is  sometimes  so  long  to 
me." 

"I  haint  forgot  thee,  Sarah,"  replied  the  old  man 
mildly.  "  'Twould  be  too  late  in  life  to  forgot  thee  noo, 
thoo  knows  that,  lass ;  but  I've  been  a  bit  busy  to-day  i* 
the  church,  and"  said. he  lowering  his  voice,  "I've  been 
aroono  the  old  spot  again,  a  looking  for  that— aeems  they 
won't  give  it  up  yet— best  to  search  no  more;  but  still 
thoo  says  it  maun  coom  sume  time  yet  afore  we  dee.  Well, 
I  gav  it  oop  again  to-day,  and,  as  the  e'en  appeared,  I  felt 
a  bit  lonesome,  and  wanted  to  see  thee  again  afore  the 
night  cam."  * 

The  setting  sunlight  was  upon  the  old  man's  face  as  he 
looked  up  at  Sarah,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  most  placid  and  benevolent.  Old  Sarah  placed  her 
hand  upon  his  uncovered  head,  and  looked  tenderly  into 
his  eyes— tenderly  as  a  fond  mother  would  look  at  her 
child ;  at  that  particular  moment  her  youth  seemed  to  re- 
turn, and  one  might  fancy  that  she  was  a  maiden  again, 
looking  almost  as  beautiful  as  of  yore. 

•*  Poor  Stephen !  When  will  that  night  come  that  must 
separate  us  ?    When  ?   It  can't  be  far  off  now,  Stephen  ?  " 

Sarah's  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke,  and  the  old  man 
seemed  to  look  vacantly  at  a  shadow  out  upon  the  green 
kiward  before  the  door,  as  he  softly  said : 

"It  must  coom,  lass,  it  must  coom;  maybe  soon,  too; 
but  then  we  maun  meet  again.  Thoo's  got  my  promise, 
and  I've  got  thine,  that  who  goes  into  the  night  first,  maun 
coom  back  t'  tother;  I'll  keep  my  word  lass,  and  I  well 
know  that  thou'lt  keep  thine.  Mayhap  we  may  both  gan 
off  together,  and  then  we  shall  be  as  one  at  last  upon  that 
t'other  shore." 

Miss  Meade  was  aware  that  there  was  some  peculiar 
bond  or  relation  between  these  two  old  people.  She  had 
more  than  once4fteen  present,  and  had  heard  their  expres- 
sions of  mutual  esteem,  if  not  of  tenderness ;  and  had  just 
witnessed  a  touching  display  of  affection,  but  the  real 


THE  fiEATHEKS  Of  TAE  HEATA. 


67 


green 

In,  too; 
fomise, 
I,  maun 
]l  well 
|th  gan 
^n  that 

jculior 
le  had 
Jxpres- 
id  just 
Le  real 


nature  of  the  tie  she  as  yet  knew  not.  They  were  undoubt- 
edly the  oldest  persons  in  the  parish ;  they  were  not  rela- 
tives, and  old  and  young  looked  upon  them  with  the 
kindliest  feelings. 

Stephen  Gray,  for  that  was  the  old  man's  name,  though 
better  known  by  all  as  Old  Stephen,  had,  so  far,  spent 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  life  at  Pendell.  He  was  some 
years  older  than  Sarah  Afton,  and  like  her  had  never  been 
married,  and  had  neither  kith  nor  kin  that  he  knew  of  in 
the  land  of  the  living.  Any  way,  he  seemed  content  to 
remain  near  Sarah,  whom  he  had  known  from  youth,  and 
to  finish  the  journey  of  life  in  the  little  cottage,  or  rather 
hut,  that  he  had  so  long  occupied.  This  humble  abode 
was  near  the  church,  even  within  the  enclosed  grave  yard, 
and  he  appeared  to  like  his  home  all  the  better  because  it 
was  so  near  that  spot  to  which  he  expected  to  ba  removed 
before  many  years.  Stephen  had  been  sexton  at  Pendell 
'  even  before  Mr.  Meade  had  become  the  curate,  but  age 
had  incapaciated  him  to  some  extent,  and  for  a  long  period 
his  principal  duty  was  merely  to  keep  the  church,  and  a 
few  old  family  tombs  in  order,  and  to  have  a  kind  of 
supervision  over  minor  matters  connected  with  the  church 
and  the  cemetery.  At  leisure  hours  he  seemed  to  take  a 
quiet  pleasure  in  \  andering  amonji  the  many  graves,  as 
if  to  commune  with  the  dead,  or  as  if  anxious  to  recall  to 
remembrance  some  of  those  who  had  long  passed  away ; 
he  could,  however,  almost  readily  point  out  the  resting 
places  of  nearly  all,  simple  or  gentle,  who  had  died  in  the 
parish  during  the  last  fifty  years ;  and  wanderers  who  had 
been  long  absent  in  foreign  lends,  upon  their  return  had 
only  to  apply  to  Stephen  to  be  shown  the  grave  of  a 
father,  or  a  mother,  which  no  other  person  could,  perhaps, 
discover. 

Miss  Meade  was  very  partial  to  old  Stephen,  he  was  as 
gentle  and  submissive  as  a  child,  and  was  always  pleased 
when  she  asked  him  to  do  her  a  service.  In  one  respect, 
he  was  very  useful  to  her.  She  was  passionately  fond  of 
music,  and  was  acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  finest  or- 


WP 


68 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


'^1.%^ 


ganists  within  the  bounds  of  several  counties.  Indeed, 
good  judges  had  often  asserted  that  all  she  had  to  do  was 
to  go  to  London  to  secure  a  high  position  as  a  performer 
on  that  instrument ;  at  all  events,  it  might  be  truly  said, 
that,  owing  to  her  splendid  execution  on  the  organ,  her 
fatiier's  congregation  had  been  more  regular  in  attend- 
ance at  church  than  they  would  have  been  if  left  only  to 
the  attraction  of  his  best  sermon,  or  to  the  more  vapid  or 
grandiloquent  ones  of  the  rector  or  bishop.  Her  most 
thrilling  effects  on  that  instrument  were,  however,  made 
when  she  was  alone,  or  at  least  when  no  one  was  present 
in  the  old  church  but  herself  and  Stephen ;  and  whenever 
she  felt  troubled  or  dispirited,  she  would  wait  up  until 
almost  all  in  Pendeil  had  retired,  and  then  call  upon  him. 
Stephen  would  open  the  church,  and  attend  her  were  it 
midnight ;  and  when  he  had  learned  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  have  it  known  that  she  practised  or  played  thus  pri- 
vately, he  kept  the  matter  a  secret — even  from  old  Sarab- 
and the  few  who  chanced  to  hear  the  organ  at  late  hours, 
quickly  circulated  the  report  that  the  exquisite  midnight 
music  was  produced  in  the  sanctuary  by  some  supernat- 
ural agency,  or  by  the  wandering  ghosts  of  the  monks  of 
other  days. 

A  short  time  after  sunset,  Miss  Meade  left  Sarah's  cot- 
tage, but  before  she  went  away,  she  beckoned  to  old 
Stephen,  and  when  he  got  to  the  open  door,  she  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  his  ear ;  he  slowly  bent  his  head,  as 
if  in  compliance  with  some  request,  and  in  a  few  hours 
afterward,  when  the  night  was  dark,  he  stood  just  outside 
the  porch  of  the  old  church,  holding  its  heavy,  rusted  key. 
He  had  not  been  long  there  before  Miss  Meade  came  glid- 
ing along  the  grave-bordered  pathway.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken ;  she  merely  put  her  hand  quietly  upon  his  shoul- 
der, the  massive,  worn  door  then  swung  slowly  upon  its 
grating  hinges ;  and  they  both  went  into  the  dimness  of 
the  silent  sanctuary. 

Had  some  spirit  of  a  sainted  martyr  entered  the  vener- 
able building  to  invoke  divine  aid,  no  pleading  petition 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


69 


-€ 


could  be  more  tender  or  affecting  than  the  pathetic  sounds 
which  were  now  audible ;  had  some  poor  tortured  heretic 
been  bending  before  a  cruel  inquisition,  there  could  be 
heard  no  more  tremulous  appeal  for  mercy.  There  came 
with  those  same  sad  sounds,  the  weeping  of  woe,  the 
depths  of  despair,  the  sobbing  of  the  sorrowful,  the  hope- 
less beseeching  of  the  condemned,  and  the  very  groans 
of  the  dying ;  and  then  the  shout  of  the  bigot,  the  fury  of 
the  fanatic,  and  the  crash  of  destruction,  rushed  wildly 
along  aisle  and  chancel,  and  thundered  in  every  vacant 
cell  and  empty  vault.  After  a  solemn  pause,  there  then 
followed  the  mourner's  prayer,  touching  and  exquisite, 
closing  with  the  soft  voices  of  angels,  which  gradually 
died  away  in  whispers  of  peace  and  hope  for  th'e  wounded 
heart. 

The  church  was  again  closed ;  old  Stephen  plodded 
slowly  homeward.  Of  what  nas  he  been  thinking  ?  had 
those  angel  voices  touched  his  heart  ?  for  before  he  en- 
tered his  humble  abode,  he  had  more  than  once  to  wipe 
away  the  tears  which  had  suflfused  his  eyes. 

By  this  time  the  night  had  grown  somewhat  stormy, 
and  Esther  Meade,  feeling  rather  discomposed,  was  led  by 
her  adventurous  spirit  down  to  her  favorite  station  at  the 
Bay.  To  see  the  ocean  In  Its  wildest  state,  was  to  her  at 
all  times  a  magnificent  sight,  and  now  her  eyes  could  be 
gratified  to  the  fullest  extent.  The  wind  had  greatly  In- 
creased, and  the  upheaval  of  distant  billows  could  be  seen 
along  the  troubled  line  of  the  horizon ;  the  light-house, 
away  out,  being  sometimes  scarcely  visible  in  the  commo- 
tion.   Now  the  hoarse  dirge  of  the  gale  seemed  to  wall 

• 

out  from  the  bursting  bosom  of  the  deep ;  now  there  is  a 
lull,  and  again  the  wind  swells  upon  the  ear  like  a 
melancholy  cadence;  the  savage  surf  is  heard  like  the 
clash  of  cymbals ;  and  the  rush  of  water  along  the  shore 
or  Into  numerous  caves,  comes  like  distant  voices,  or  re- 
sounding echoes.  Amid  this  wild  chorus  of  sounds,  Miss 
Meade  almost  fancied  herself  in  attendance  at  a  grand 
concert  of  thousands ;  and  the  tall,  beacon  tower,  with  its 


70 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


revolving  light,  seen  looming  up  at  times  among  the 
breakers,  was  then  to  her  like  the  conductor  of  the  im- 
mense orchestra,  swinging  his  baton  of  flame  while  beat- 
ing time  for  the  waves. 


■£:m 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


A    MIHSIONABT    WANTED. 

A  DREARY  plain,  almost  a  desert  plain,  in  Winter  a 
-^^  wild  waste,  bleak  j,nd  inhospitable ;  in  Summer  time 
brown,  arid  and  dusty ;  a  few  stunted  or  withered  looking 
trees  here  and  there ;  scarcely  a  shrub,  or  a  green  herb, 
and  very  little  grass  to  be  seen,  scanty  shade  or  cover  for 
man  or  beast ;  no  clear  stream  to  invite  the  thirsty  travel- 
er, but  stagnant  pools  in  deep,  muddy  pits,  with  slushy 
margins,  disfigured  the  surface  of  heathy  ground,  giving 
the  whole  an  unsightly  appearance.  A  wild  place  where 
one  would  fancy  that  thieves,  or  Thugs,  might  roam  with 
impunity.  A  place  for  robbery,  or  a  place  for  murder ; 
and  a  place  where  no  doubt  these  crimes  had  been  com- 
mitted. On  the  north,  in  the  distance,  this  wide  plain  was 
bounded  by  rising  ground,  near  which  were  several 
wretched  looking  huts,  inhabited  by  human  beings  appar- 
ently the  most  squalid  and  destitute.  At  first  view  one 
would  suppose  the  men  to  be  the  veriest  savages,  the 
women  the  most  degraded,  and  the  children,  ragged  and 
filthy,  the  most  forsaken.  Poverty,  ignorance,  supersti- 
tion, and  crime,  seemed  to  have  reduced  them  to  the  lowest 
condition,  and  to  have  left  the  darkest  impress  upon  the 
people  and  their  surroundings ;  and  a  pious  humanitarian 
upon  visiting  these  outcasts,  might  readily  imagine  that 
he  was  in  some  far  off,  benighted  land,  among  a  brutal 
race,  where  life  was  insecure ;  among  the  lowest  caste  of 
men,  with  whom  worship,  if  such  WQfQ  Qver  known,  was^ 


72 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


,11 1 


pa  r 


but  riotous  bloodshed ;  among  idolaters,  where  the  deep 
ruts  of  the  car  wheels  of  Juggernaut  could  bo  seen  on  the 
highways,  or  a  rude  temple  be  discovered  sheltering  the 
hideous  form  of  some  pagan  god ;  or  where  some  foul  den 
might  be  found  in  which  human  beings  were  offered  In 
sacrifice.  Here,  he  might  surely  say,  there  is  not  ojily 
ample  scope  for  missionary  exertions,  but  for  charitable 
efforts  in  which  the  bodily  wants  alone  should  be  consid- 
ered as  possessing  a  paramount  claim,  for  the  apparent 
barbarism  and  destitution  of  the  people  can  hardly  be 
exceeded  upon  any  part  of  the  habitable  globe. 

Yet  one  would  think  that  the  surprise  of  such  philan- 
thropist should  be  great  when  he  remembered  that  this 
land  was  a  Ohristian  land,  and  that  the  savages  before 
him  were  accounted  a  Christian  people ;  that  he  was  stand- 
ing, not  in  the  wilds  of  Africa,  but  upon  the  very  soil  of 
Old  Britain,  where  Christianity  had  been  carefully  fostered 
by  generations  of  kings  and  rulers  for  over  a  thousand 
years;  where  a  priesthood— a  legion— wealthy  and  influ- 
ential, were  still  employed  and  lavishly  paid,  to  propagate 
Christian  doctrines;  and  where  Christian  churches  were 
very  numerous,  the  greater  number  of  which  being  richly 
endowed  by  the  State. 

Partly  as  an  evidence  of  this,  a  few  miles  to  the  south, 
the  grey  tower  of  Pendell  church  could  be  dimly  seen ; 
and  further,  in  the  opposite  direction,  away  beyond  the 
high  ground,  the  steeple  of  Betnall  parish  appeared,  faint 
as  a  shadow,  above  the  tall  trees  that  bounded  the  view. 
Still  the  Heath,  or  "Devil's  Dale,"  as  it  was  commonly 
called,  with  its  savage  inhabitants,  was  not  for  some  rea- 
son, included  within  the  boundaries  of  either  Pendell  or 
Betnall  parish ;  it  had  once  been,  and  in  fact  still  was, 
part  of  a  large  confiscated  estate  belonging  to  some  lordly 
freebooter,  who,  for  some  vile  or  special  service,  had  it 
granted  to  him  by  some  pious  monarch,  and  this  estate 
was  then  as  exempt  from  the  payment  of  ordinary  rates 
and  assessments  as  if  it  had  been  the  property  of  an  arch- 
bishop.  But  in  the  course  of  time,  after  years  of  extrava- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


73 


gance  and  dissii>ation,  other  taxes  or  claims  had  accumu- 
lated, over  which  the  king  had  no  control,  and  a  host  of 
creditors,  as  a  last  resource,  had  placed  their  claims  in 
Chancery,  and,  once  within  its  gripe.  Chancery  had  drained 
the  revenue  of  the  estate ;  had  let  its  broad  acres  grow 
wild  and  barren,  its  manor  house  tumbled  almost  to  ruins, 
had  harassed  more  than  one  heir  expectant  to  the  grave, 
and  had  scattered  the  impoverished  serfs  and  retainers  to 
their  only  refuge  on  the  bleak  heath,  where  they  and  their 
descend&nts,  despised  and  neglected,  had  long  become 
outlaws  and  vagabonds. 

As  it  was,  neither  Betnall,  nor  Pendell,  was  willing  to 
admit  the  Heath  was  within  its  parochial  limits ;  neither 
did  the  authorities  of  either  parish  wish  to  be  burdened 
with  additional  paupers  from  among  the  irreclaimable 
thieves  and  cut  throats  of  "  Devil's  Dale,"  .still,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  self-protection,  something  had  to  be  done  to  limit, 
and,  if  possible,  lu  prevent  the  incursions  of  such  vaga- 
bonds, and  by  united  effort,  with  aid  from  other  quarters, 
a  kind  of  prison,  or  place  of  torture,  called  a  workhouse- 
or  poorhouse— an  institution  of  benevolence  rather  com- 
mon in  England— was  erected  on  a  convenient  boundary 
not  far  from  the  limits  of  the  Heath,  and  such  of  the  wild 
race  as  had  the  temerity  to  wander  towards  Betnall  or 
Pendell,  either  as  aged  or  infirm  mendicants,  or  as  adven- 
turers to  poach  or  to  pilfer,  were  too  well  watched  to  bo 
always  able  to  escape  detection,  and,  once  in  the  clutches 
of  certain  officials,  little  pity  was  shown ;  for  if  they  of  the 
Heath  could  not  be  convicted  as  thieves,  they  were  gener- 
ally imprisoned  as  vagrants,  and  unmercifully  dealt  with 
as  a  warning  to  others.  So  the  pious,  the  orderly,  and  the 
prominent  inhabitants  of  the  two  parishes,  generally 
treated  their  rude  neighbors  with  the  greatest  indifference 
or  contempt,  and  these  neighbors,  feeling  in  turn  that 
they  were  despised,  and  that  civilization  had  as  yet  only 
offered  them  the  refuge  of  a  prison  and  the  status  of  crim- 
inals, felt  aggrieved  and  resentful,  and  took  every  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  evil  for  evil,  and  of  commiting  depre- 


■  ■'■{ 

*  15 ; 


th 


'X 


K< 


I  i  't*t 


-i'i 


=lt!i 


I'M 


74 


THE  HKATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dations,  great  or  trivial,  as  time,  place,  and  circumstances 
permitted. 

It  was  evident,  therefore,  that  a  feeling  of  dislike  or 
hostility  on  one  side,  had  engendered  a  similar  feeling  on 
the  other,  and  they  of  the  Heath,  for  a  particular  reason, 
in  one  respect,  did  not  evince  any  anxiety  whatever  to  be 
patronized  by  either  parish,  or  to  press  a  claim  for  legal 
recognition  as  being  the  parishioners  of  any  place ;  for, 
isolated  as  they  were,  like  a  community  of  bandits  or  out- 
laws, and  almost  totally  indifferent  as  to  any  fluty  or 
responsibility  they  might  owe  to  king  or  country,  they  felt 
exempt  from  the  payment  of  any  kind  of  rates  or  taxes, 
and  any  attempt  ever  made  to  collect  such  from  them  was 
unsuccessful ;  and,  as  any  effort  of  the  kind  would  be 
quite  useless,  they  lived,  and  struggled,  and  wrangled, 
and  starved,  and  died  in  their  own  peculiar  way;  few, 
indeed,  ever  caring  to  know  more  about  them  than  that 
they  were  kept  domiciled  as  far  as  possible  within  the 
bounds  of  the  dreary  Heath  or  Devil's  Dale.  Besides, 
having  the  native  inhabitants,  the  Heath  had  others  also, 
it  was  the  resort  of  refugees  from  justice  from  all  quar- 
ters ;  and  gypsies  and  other  wanderers,  often  found  their 
way  to  the  wild  region,  and  must  have  had  a  rude  wel- 
come, as  they  frequently  remained  long  enough  to  indi- 
cate that  they  were  not  treated  as  intruders,  or  despoiled 
of  any  of  the  scanty  wares  which  they  bartered  here  and 
there  for  a  living.  Sometimes  people  from  the  adjoining 
parishes  would  pay  a  kind  of  holiday  visit  to  the  Heath  to 
see  the  "wild  folk,"  just  with  the  same  kind  of  curiosity 
that  would  lead  others  to  enter  a  menagerie  to  see  wild 
beasts ;  but  those  who  went  to  the  Heath,  went  at  their 
own  risk,  and  often  had  to  return  minus  a  watch,  a  knife,  a 
handkerchief,  or  other  articles  of  greater  or  less  value ; 
those  who  were  lucky  enough  to  escape  the  fingers  of  a 
thief,  often  went  homo  with  cut  or  torn  or  spattered 
clothes,  as  an  evidence  of  the  enmity  that  existed  against 
the  respectable  outer  world ;  and  it  was  not  only  darkly 
hinted,  but  once  in  a  while  spoken  openly,  that  some  had 


THE  HEATHENS  OT  TBM  BIATB. 


76 


recklessly  entered  the  Heath  who  were  never  known  to 
have  returned. 

Notwithstanding  this  state  of  things,  a  few  persons, 
who  were  traders,  and  a  few  such  as  Mr.  Meade  and  his 
daughter,  who  really  commiserated  the  condition  of  tho 
people  of  the  Heath,  and  who  had  given  evidence  of  a 
friendly  desire  to  do  something  for  their  benefit,  wont 
occasionally  amongst  them,  and  though  received  coldly 
or  with  indifference,  were  not  molested.  The  great  mis- 
sionary societies  of  Britain  liad  never  made  any  serious 
attempt  to  rescue  these  people  from  the  barbarism  into 
which  they  had  been  plunged.  Home  missions  may,  no 
doubt,  have  been  considered  altogether  too  common- 
place. There  was  something  piously  romantic  in  a  Rev- 
erend hero  of  the  Cross  wandering  far  over  sea  and  land, 
to  make  eloquent  signs  to  dusky,  well-fed  savages  in  Af- 
rica, or  in  an  endeavor  to  make  his  frail  attempts  at 
Sanscrit  or  Bengalee,  understood  by  educated  Hindoos  on 
"India's  coral  strand;"  but  for  a  man  of  ability  to  bo 
pent  up  in  a  wild  moor,  and  to  spend  time  and  talents 
simply  in  order  to  Christianize  his  own  brethren,  fellow- 
countrymen  at  home,  was  too  unostentatious  to  be  ranked 
as  "  missionary,"  and  too  monotonous  to  invoke  "the  true 
missionary  spirit.  The  heathen,  thousands  of  miles  away, 
were  supposed  to  be  in  much  greater  need  of  missionary 
attention,  and  heathen  lands  were  said  to  be  the  proper 
missionary  field ;  for  it  had  been  argued  that  a  class  like 
those  of  the  Heath,  who  lived  in  a  Christian  country,  and 
who  could  be  even  indirectly  benefitted  or  controlled  by 
the  influence  of  a  Christian  community,  were  not  at  all  so 
much  in  need  of  spiritual  aid  as  the  destitute  in  far 
heathei^  lands,  who  had  never  heard  of  the  Bible,  and 
who  had  not  the  healthy  every  day  example  of  Christian 
believers  before  them.  Still  something  by  way  of  relig- 
ious instruction  had  been  attempted  on  the  Heath.  An 
obscure  body  of  Methodists  called  Ranters,  after  many 
trials  and  much  perseverance  and  persuasion,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  impressing  some  of  the  people  with  the  idea 


i 


t'^l 


76 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


/.  ' 


i 


^1!i; 


^n? 


that  they  were  leaillng  wicked  lives,  and  that  if  thoy 
refused  the  Gospel,  their  sufferings  in  another  state  of 
existence  would  be  many  fold  greater  than  the  toils  and 
poverty  and  wretchedness  In  this  life.  Ho,  after  awhile, 
a  "  society  "  had  been  formed,  and  a  snuill  chai)ol  erected  ; 
and  as  the  preachers  of  this  sect  were  rather  illiterate  au\ 
unpretending,  they  went  among  the  "wild  folk,"  no  doubt 
with  the  best  intentions,  and  as  if  only  their  equals  in 
humble  position ;  and  their  peculiar  threats  and  appeals— 
generally  used  by  Methodist  sects— had  such  an  effect 
upon  the  credulity  and  ignorance  of  the  rude  people,  that 
many  became  so  "religious"  that  noisy  demonstrations 
of  worship  could  be  often  heard  far  and  near  on  the  wide 
plain. 

The  barbarians  of  the  Heath  being,  however,  thoroughly 
ignorant,  could  not  really  understand,  or  at  all  appreciate 
the  so-called  "simple  doctrines"  which  were  preached; 
these  not  only  bewildered  the  stupid  souls  to  whom  tliey 
had  been  presented,  but  led  to  angry  arguments  as  to 
their  meaning,  and  thus  perplexed  these  boors  soon  grew 
tired  of  the  religious  novelty,  and  their  pious,  but  rather 
wild  excitement,  gradually  died  away.  Certain  acts  of  the 
ranting  exhorters  had  somehow  dissatisfied  many  of  their 
new  converts,  who  had  formed  the  opinion  that  the  e 
exhorters  were  in  many  respects  as  fallible  and  as  exacting 
in  their  way  as  other  preachers  in  higher  social  position  ; 
besides,  instead  of  a  free  gospel,  demands  had  been  made 
very  often  for  money  for  various  religious  purposes.  The 
preacher,  too,  had  to  get  something  for  his  support ;  some- 
thing had  to  be  given  for  the  circulation  of  the  bible— 
though  few  on  the  Heath  had  read,  or  could  evei^read  a 
line  of  it— and  aid  was  required  for  missionaries  away  In 
foreign  lands.  The  trifle  asked  or  given  was,  however,  a 
great  sum  to  people  who  seldom  handled  a  shilling;  so 
they  of  the  Plain  feeling  themselves  miserably  poor,  and 
having  a  greater  share  of  pity,  rough  as  it  was,  for  their 
own  destitute  children  than  for  exhorters  or  foreign 
heathens,  looked  with  distrust  or  indifference  upon  the 


THE  HEATH  RNS  OF  TU*'.  HEATH. 


Tt 


preachers.  Sunday  wan  made  a  day  of  gloom,  and  as  they 
had  been  warned  against  indulging  in  the  sports  and  rec- 
reations to  which  thoy  had  been  accustomed,  they  soon 
fell  back  into  their  old  habits,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
great  majority  of  the  converted  abandoned  the  chapel  for 
their  old  resort,  the  low  tavern  or  drinking  house  that  had 
long  been  established  amongst  them ;  here,  they  thought, 
they  could  feel  more  social  than  any  where  else,  and  the 
rude  joviality  which  occasionally  took  place  made  them 
often  forget  the  toil  that  was  before  them ;  and  if  they 
slept  an  hour  after  the  effects  of  a  pint  of  drugged  beer, 
they  felt  more  satisfied  than  if  they  had  to  sleep  an  hour 
under  a  drowsy  sermon,  very  little  of  which  they  could 
comprehend. 

This  low  place  and  a  smaller  drinking  den  of  the  same 
kind,  were  the  only  resorts  on  the  Heath  that  supplied 
beverages  for  the  inhabitants,  and  he  or  she  who  could 
spare  a  penny  out  of  the  groat  that  had  been  amassed  in  this 
impoverished  region,  was  sure  to  seek  solace  with  it  at  the 
tavern.  These  haunts  were  the  central  spot  for  scenes  of 
drunken  sports,  brawls  and  dissipation ;  and  here  it  was 
where  matches  were  made  for  wrestling,  and  for  feats  of 
strength  or  agility,  and  where  challenges  were  given  for 
brutal  fights,  in  which  kicking,  biting,  and  foul,  and  often 
deadly  blows,  were  legitimate  methods  of  battering,  and 
pounding,  and  disfiguring  the  human  body  In  the  most 
terrible  manner ;  and  then  there  were  cock  fights,  and  dog 
fights,  and,  by  way  of  change  of  sport,  fathers,  and  even 
mothers,  backed  their  sons— from  eight  to  fifteen  years 
old— In  combat  with  children  of  the  same  ago,  the  sons  of 
others,  and  the  fights  between  cocks  and  dogs,  and  chil- 
dren, often,  indeed  almost  always,  led  to  combats  between 
the  respective  owners  or  parents,  and  on  such  occasions 
the  whole  plain  might  well  be  called  the  "  Devil's  Dale," 
and  the  people  tht  veriest  fiends. 

The  precarious  livelihood  of  mostly  all  of  these  people 
was  earned  by  almost  Incessant  labor,  and  by  employment 
In  which  children  of  tender  years  were  forced  to  assist  to  the 


f 

ft 


78 


THE  HEATHENH  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I.'' 


\ ' 

>■'. 

utmost  of  their  strength.  The  women,  too,  had  not  only  to 
manage  household  mutters,  but  to  spend  most  of  their 
time  among  rude,  indecent  men  at  heavy  work,  which  was 
not  only  sufficient  to  break  down  the  strongest  constitu- 
tion, but  to  dwarf  and  deform  the  children  engaged 
therein  ;  and  the  almost  total  disregard  paid  to  difference 
of  sex,  led  to  what  would  be  called  the  greatest  demoral- 
ization. As  it  was,  coarse,  drunken  men  seemed  to  tyran- 
nize over  women,  and  men  and  women,  as  if  anxious  to 
lighten  their  own  labor,  compelled  mere  children,  by  rude 
and  indecent  threats,  and  often  by  blows,  to  do  the  most 
slavish  work,  fit  only  for  strong  and  active  men. 

Not  far  from  the  long  row  of  huts  or  dwellings  on  the 
Heath,  and  close  to  a  wide,  deep  pit,  were  several  low, 
rickety  sheds;  some  of  them  weio  sparingly  thatched,  or 
covered  with  straw,  others  with  a  kind  of  matting,  and 
others  with  rough  tiles.  Under  these  sheds  were  piles  of 
clay  moulded  into  the  shape  of  bricks,  and  left  to  dry, 
previous  to  their  being  placed  in  the  kiln.  A  number  of 
women  and  children  were  in  one  of  the  pits ;  some  of  them 
stood  with  bare  feet  in  the  thick,  muddy  water  up  to  the 
ankles.  The  women  dug  the  clay  and  shoveled  it  into 
barrows  that  the  larger  boys  and  girls  wheeled  slowly 
away  to  a  place  where  men  and  women,  and  some  children 
were  actively  treading  the  clay  into  soft,  sticky  mud  to 
prepare  it  for  the  moulders.  Such  of  the  children  as  were 
not  strong  enough  to  wheel  the  barrow,  carried  baskets 
of  clay  upon  their  heads,  and  if  they  stopped  on  the  way 
to  rest  for  a  minute  or  two,  they  were  shouted  at  and 
sometimes  struck  by  men  and  women,  who  seemed  deter- 
mined to  force  them  to  do  all  the  work  they  could  possibly 
perform.  The  laborers  were  covered  with  dirt  and  mud, 
and  the  children's  hair  was  matted  with  clay,  and  there 
were  scabbed  and  bleeding  sores  on  their  heads,  faces  and 
feet;  and  several  were  so  much  covered  with  the  dry, 
adhesive  mud,  as  to  have  their  very  features  hidden.  In 
another  part  of  the  plain  was  the  entrance  to  a  coal  pit, 
iu  the  murky  depths  of  which  the  toilers— mostly  meiyand 


aen't 


THK  UHATHENrt  OF  THE  HKVl'H. 


19 


pit, 
tnd 


boys— wore  hidden  from  tho  outer  world  for  dreary  porl- 
oda  of  from  llftoen  to  twenty  hours  at  a  time;  and  hero, 
too,  women  and  children  wore  obliged  to  labor,  carryinj; 
coal  in  barrows  and  buckets  until  painfully  wearied ;  and 
tho  continued  toll,  in  all  quarters,  from  dawn  until  dark, 
and  during  all  kinds  of  weather,  so  fagged  and  wearle«l 
the  unfortunate  people,  that  the  strongest  stimulants 
were  too  often  craved  by  men  and  women,  more  eagerly 
than  food ;  and  children.  Instead  of  thinking  of  sport  or 
play,  were  glad,  in  their  periods  of  leisure,  to  drop  asleep 
on  the  wet,  muddy,  black  ground,  and  forget  their  prema- 
ture sufferings.* 

The  mud  huts,  or  houses  of  the  heathen  population, 
were  only  such  as  would  give  to  a  civilized  person  the 
most  dreary  idea  of  domestic  comfort.  Each  hut  was  but 
a  single  filthy  apartment.  The  rain  often  came  through 
the  wretched  roof,  and  as  there  were  but  few  huts  which 
had  a  chimney,  or  even  a  hole  left  for  a  window,  the  smoke 
had  to  make  its  exit  through  the  open  door,  or  the  best 
way  it  could.  There  was  nothing  that  could  be  called  fur- 
niture; a  rough  stool  or  bench,  and  a  few  of  the  most 
simple  cooking  utensils  might  be  found  in  some  of  tho 
dwellings,  but  the  greater  number  of  them  had  neither 
bedstead  nor  table,  nor  even  a  stool;  and  the  wretched, 
wearied  Inmates,  after  having  partaken  of  the  most  scanty 
and  unwholesome  food,  were  compelled  at  night  to  huddle 
together  promiscuously,  in  great  discomfort,  on  the  wet  or 
damp  ground  floor,  to  find  such  rest  as  nature  might  for- 
tunately bestow,  after  their  many  hours  of  the  most  severe 
toil. 

But  there  were  others  on  the  Heath  who  managed  to 
escape  the  misery  of  such  slavish  labor— a  class  who 
could  not  see  any  virtue  in  industry  where  poverty  was  its 
reward.  These  were  the  thieves,  the  poachers,  and  tho 
robbers  of  the  plain,  who  regularly  visited  the  adjoining 
parishes,  and,  evading  bailiffs  and  detectives,  generally 

*  Soe  Noto  1  in  the  Appendix. 


|5 


60 


TBB  BEATHEKS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


[■3^^ 


*a 


..J 


returned  with  sufficient  plunder,  in  the  shape  of  game, 
domestic  fowl,  sheep  or  lambs,  clothing,  or  any  article 
that  they  could  stealthily  lay  hands  on,  and,  if  the  plun- 
der was  abundant,  it  was  freely  shared  among  the  more 
destitute  of  the  Heath ;  and  then  there  was  a  period  of 
feasting  and  revelry  for  many. 

It  would  not  only  be  a  useless,  but  a  dangerous  attempt 
for  any  officer  of  justice  to  follow  a  culprit  to  the  Heath ; 
a  summons,  warrant,  proclamation,  or  an  authoritative 
order  of  any  kind,  would  be  only  laughed  at.  Once  safely 
back  among  hfs  confederates,  the  thief  might  hurl  defi- 
ance at  his  pursuers,  for  he  was  sure  to  lind  ready  refuge 
and  protection ;  and  the  sharpest  detective  could  neither, 
by  threats  nor  prayers,  obtain  the  least  information,  either 
to  identify  the  fugitive  or  lead  to  an  arrest ;  and  If  even 
an  arrest  were  made,  should  the  officer  of  the  law,  with  a 
dozen  aids,  if  he  had  them,  persist  in  trying  to  take  away 
his  prisoner,  he  and  his  assistant  were  sure  to  be  mal- 
treated most  brutally— in  any  case  ihey  would"  be  severely 
abused— and  the  mob  of  lawless  villians,  by  whom  they 
were  surrounded,  would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  take 
life— oven  the  lives  of  all  if  necessary— rather  than  yield 
one  victim  up  to  unmerciful  magistrates;  for  the  poor 
wretches  of  the  plain  entertained  the  opinion  that  they 
were  somehow  injured  and  oppressed,  and  kept  in  a  state 
of  want,  and  almost  in  a  state  of  slavery,  by  pious  and 
respectable  society  generally;  and  the  minions  of  the  law 
vtrere  not  only  looked  upon  as  agents  of  gross  oppression, 
but  were  accounted  no  higher  in  the  estimation  of  most 
of  those  half-wild  barbarians,  than  a  highwayman  or 
murderer  would  be  held  among  civilized  people.  Believ- 
ing, therefore,  that  they  had  been  wronged  and  robbed  by 
the  wealthy  and  powerful  around  them,  they  felt  it  a  duty 
to  despoil  in  return— in  fact,  to  be  revenged ;  and  often, 
indeed,  when  they  went  out  for  plunder,  if  nothing  could 
be  more  readily  found,  they  would  strii)  the  clothes  from 
children ;  and,  if  a  chance  offered,  even  kidnap  the  chil- 
dren themselves.    And  for  years  there  had  been  perishing 


miid 


tHE  MEAtHEKS  OP  t^E  HEATfl. 


di 


kiltie  slaves  on  the  plain,  who  had  forgotten  their  parents ; 
and  there  were  parents,  far  and  near,  who  bewailed  their 
children.  There  was  oppression  and  distress  in  the  land, 
which  the  law  had  not  remedied ;  there  was  revenge  and 
blood  which  the  law  could  not  well  reach.  Tl  .e  were 
tears  and  suffering  which  well  to  do  society  had  overloolc^ 
ed ;  and  there  was  a  plague  spot  of  poverty,  superstition, 
and  crime,  in  the  very  heart  of  old  England,  which  rict. 
missionary  societies  had  neglected,  in  their  hot  zeal  to 
lavish  pious  funds  among  well-fed  Pagans,  or  to  mitigate 
imaginary  evils  in  the  malarious  ciimutus  of  distant  lands.* 


*  Boti  Note  3. 


w 


I 


I 


I: 
I 


!>■*■■: 


II 


# 


■4. 


.1 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE  BRITIHH  HEATHEN. 


TF  a  tired  traveler  on  some  dreary  desert  were  anxiously 
-*-  seeking  rest  from  lorg  fatigue,  or  shelter  from  a  .sud- 
den storm,  le  might  hesitate  to  enter  the  only  place  of 
refuge  that  offered  if  it  were  as  dingy,  unclean,  and  suspic- 
ious in  appearance  as  the  "Rook's  Nest,"  ivhich  was  the 
name  of  one  of  the  drinking  houses  on  the  Heath  ;  and  if 
ha  were  possessed  of  a  watch  or  a  sum  of  money  whi(^h  he 
wished  to  keep  in  his  poss  jssion,  he  might  further  hesitate, 
and  would  most  likely  prefer  to  take  his  chance  beneath  a 
gloomy  sky  or  under  a  threatening  cloud,  than  enter  such 
a  nest  at  a  late  hour,  or  trubt  the  black  brow  and  scowling 
aspect  of  the  thick-set,  wolfish  looking  follow  who  was  the 
landlord  and  occupant  of  the  dilapidated  two-storied  brick 
fabric,  over  whoso  battered  front  door  was  nailed  a  piece 
of  board,  upon  which  some  rare  and  learned  genius  of  the 
plain  had  succeeded  in  carving  out  two  significant  words 
thus—  "Rook's  Nest."  Then,  if  the  same  traveler  in  his 
wistful  search  should  move  towards  the  other  old  building 
across  the  way,  and  see  its  dirty  entrance,  its  broken  win- 
dows, and  see  its  rough,  projc«.  ling  sign,  that  probably 
the  same  artist  had  lettered,  "  The  Bull  Dog,"  he  might 
quickly  turn  away  in  despair  from  a  place  of  promise  so 
doubtful,  when  he  also  saw  the  stupid  look  and  heavy 
features  of  the  half  drunken,  one-eyed  host  who  sat  like 
some  unclean  beast  in  a  foul  den  waiting  for  his  prey. 
These  were  the  two  inns,  or  rather  drinking  houses,  of 


TH£  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


83 


win- 

|ubly 

[ight 

ie  so 

javy 

liko 

Is,  of 


tho  Heath,  and  the  great  places  of  resort  for  nearly  its 
entire  population.  The  Rook's  Nest,  being  the  larger  of 
the  two,  was  the  haunt  of  those  principally  engaged  at 
work  in  the  mines,  and  its  name  was  somrvhat  approi)ri- 
ate,  every  one  of  its  customers  being  almost  as  black  in 
appearance  as  the  veritable  rooks  themselves.  Tho  "  Bull 
Dog,"  on  the  other  hand,  was  chiefly  patronized  by  the 
laborers  of  the  brick  yards,  who  wore  more  rough  in  man- 
ner, and  more  willing  to  get  drunk  and  quarrel,  than, 
perhaps,  those  who  favored  the  other  house ;  and  though 
each  of  these  resorts  had  its  own  particular  class^of  custo- 
mers, it  was  common  for  them  to  mingle  at  either  place 
to  drink,  to  wrangle,  or  to  fight,  as  the  mood  of  the  hour 
chanced  to  direct. 

It  was  Sunday  morning— not  a  day  of  rest  or  recreation 
for  all  on  tho  Plain— and  nearly  church  time;  for  the 
faint  sound  of  the  bells  of  Betnall  parish  could  be  heard 
now  and  then  in  the  clear,  calm  air.  A  number  of  labor- 
ers who  had  been  at  work  from  an  early  hour  in  the  clay 
pits,  had  just  strolled  one  after  another  towards  their 
respective  hut'.,  "just  to  clean  oop  a  bit,"  that  is  to  rinse 
a  portion  of  the  mud  from  their  faces  and  hands  in  dirty 
water.  Several  of  the  children  were  still  kept  busy  piling 
unburnt  bricks  under  the  sheds,  while  a  few  other  chil- 
dren-the  sickly  and  worn  out— were  stretched  listlessly 
here  and  there  on  the  bare  ground,  as  if  anxious  for  rest 
that  should  be  unbroken  forever.  By  degrees  a  num 
ber  of  squalid  looking  laborers,  men  and  w^omen— squalid 
and  ragged  even  in  their  Sunday  attire~had  assembled  in 
the  small,  filthy  tap  room  of  the  Bull  Dog.  In  a  short 
time  the  place  became  crowded ;  the  day  was  warm,  and 
the  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  that  filled  the  place  seemed 
to  discompose  none  but  the  myriads  of  flies  that  were  buz- 
zing around,  or  diving  into  the  clammy  pewter  mugs 
which  were  very  seldom  poli.shed.  The  rough  paople  who 
had  entered  appeared  in  a  hurry  to  commence  tho  day's 
carousal  by  first  swallowing  the  strongest  stuff  that  Ned 
Bogg  could  hand  over  his  counter ,  and  Ned,  with  his  ono 


i 


Si 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


blinking  eye  seemed  to  watch  every  drop  as  if  willing  to 
Kive  only  scrupulous  measure  to  his  craving  customers. 
One  might  think  he  was  dispensing  to  a  diseased  set  some 
precious  elixir  of  life,  instead  of  the  very  essence  of  death. 

"Oy,"  said  one  fellow  after  wiping  his  mouth  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  "that's  a  rare  un  yer  got  Ned,  whoy 
thur  will  choake  the  bitch  at  th'  Book's  in  less  than  a 
minnit." 

"Thutshe  wull  lud,"  replied  the  landlord,  "she's a  rare 
un,  sure  enough  ;  an  I'll  lay  an  extra  croon  that  .she'll  lay 
cop  the  Rook '8'  )»oauty  within  'alf  an  oor,  and  Tom 
Slaughter  will  lose  another  wager.  Well,  damn  un,  I'd 
loike  t'let  un  lose  a  poond  or  more ;  and  thoo'll  do  it,  my 
lady."  Here  Ned  Bogg,  the  aforesaid  landlord,  lifted  on 
his  counter  a  great,  ugly  bull  slut,  and  patted  her  as  afifec- 
tionately  as  his  course  nature  would  permit,  while  his 
gazing  customers  were  delighed.  He  had  got  this  brute 
as  a  rare  present;  she  had  been  stolen  a  short  time  pre- 
viously from  a  farmer  a  few  miles  distant,  and  Ned  had 
sent  a  challenge  to  his  rival,  Tom  Slaughter,  the  landlord 
of  the  Book's  Nest,  who  had  another  dog  of  the  same  kind. 
Heavy  bete  had  been  made  on  the  dogs,  aud*great  sport 
was  expected. 

"  Whoy  Bob,  thoes  back  brave  un  1  What's  the  look  ?  " 
All  eyes  were  now  turned  upon  the  man  who  had  just 
entered.  Bob  Cuflfcr,  who  had  been  so  addressed  l)y  the 
landlord,  was  a  noted  j>oacher,  or  rather  thief;  he  had 
been  "out"  with  felonious  intent  as  usual,  and  had  only 
returned  a  few  hours  previously,  with  some  plunder  and 
some  news,  of  which  all  prci^ent  seemed  eager  to  have  a 
share.  Bob's  news  was  almost  as  welcome  as  the  spoil 
which  he  was  willing  to  divide  among  those  who  had 
greatest  need.  He  was  a  daring,  able  bodied  chap,  ready 
for  a  bout  with  a  bailiff  or  a  detective,  and  as  he  had  never 
been  "  trapped  "  by  either  one  or  the  other,  or  known  to 
come  off  second  best  in  an  encounter  with  any  who  had 
been  on  the  look  out  for  him,  he  was  a  favorite ;  and  the 
relation  of  his  adventures  whenever  ho  returned  had  all 


THB  HEATHIiMS  OF  THE  HEATIt. 


SS 


the  attractions  of  a  romance  for  his  lawless  associates  on 
the  Heath. 

"  What's  th*  look  ?  "  continued  the  landlord,  who  hand- 
ed Bob  a  glass  of  the  strongest  liquor,  which  was  drunlc 
off  in  a  moment.  "  Ise  glad  <^hee's  coom  to  meet  Jack 
Clench,  I  wood'na  vur  a  poond  hav  un  say  that  you  went 
off  an  wur  afeard  to  coom  to  time." 

"  01  beant  afeard  uv  Jack  Clench,  nor  noother  mun,  an 
he  knows  it."  Bob  Cuffer,  when  he  said  this,  swaggered 
like  a  bully  from  side  to  side,  and  held  out  one  of  his  big 
arms  in  defiance. 

"Hoy,  Bob!  but  thee's  got  a  coot  on  th' yarm.  Hast 
had  a  scuffle  with  any  t'  oodside  ?  "  said  the  landlord. 

There  was  a  wound  on  the  man's  arm,  but  Bob,  looking 
at  it  with  indifference,  replied  : 

"  Yes  mun,  I  got  into  clootches  wi'big  Jones,  the  bailiff, 
an  iv  he  gav  me  that  scratch  wi'  a  pisto!  ball,  I  gav  him  a 
broke  slcull  wi'  a  big  stun  as  big  as  his  yed.  I  laid  un  low, 
that  I  did,  an  he'll  maybe  get  boxed  oop  an  in  aud 
Steeve's  oary  i'  th'  Pendoll  choorch  yard  afore  anoother 
week.    He  won't  trooblo  me  again,  he  won't. 

The  reilow  chuckled  at  his  vile  exploit,  and  his  savage 
hearers  uttered  a  chorus  of  approval  in  anticipation  of  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  bailifii^  Treating  the  event  as  a 
matter  of  no  importance,  the  landlord  filled  out  another 
glass  for  Bob  and  inquired  the  news, 

*'0y,"  said  Bob,  **  but  I  maun  show  you  the  swag  first. 
I  Kot  this  watch,  and  there's  his  pistol,  too,  dam  un;  I 
gav  uncle  Jo  his  coat  an  boots."  These  were  things  which 
lie  had  taken  from  the  bailiff;  and  the  pistol  and  watch 
were  handed  around  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  those 
present.  He  then  told  them  that  he  had  been  all  through 
r.'ildell  and  Betnall,  that  he  had  been  at  the  rector's 
place,  and  had  picked  up  some  clothes  and  other  things 
In  an  outhouse;  "an  see  here,"  said  he  uncovering  a 
small  basket  which  hung  on  his  arm,  "here's  one  o'  the 
rector's,  teunants  that  never  paid  un  ony  toythes,"  and 
Bob  laughed  heartily. 


K 


If 


5;i 


86 


TH"5  itKATHENS  OF  THE  HKATlt. 


Crouched  in  the  basket  was  a  vuluable  game  cock,  one 
of  a  rare  breed,  great  to  light,  for  which  parson  Rockett, 
rector  of  Betnall,  and  magistrate  for  the  county,  had  paid 
a  high  price,  in  order  to  afford  amusement,  and  sometimea 
profit,  to  himself  and  a  few  chosen  friends  who  delighted 
in  testing  to  the  utmost  the  fighting  qualities  of  such 
birds  when  a  chance  offered;  in  fact  the  rector  and  his 
select  friends— being  all  wealthy  and  of  course  respectably 
pious— were  as  fond  of  this  kind  of  sport  as  they  were  of 
horse  racing,  or  of  following  the  hounds.  Bob  CulTer  who 
was  also  partial  to  feathers,  and  who  i>rided  himself  in 
being  as  good  a  judge  of  game  cocks  as  any  rector  in  the 
kingdom,  saw  the  parson's  prize,  and  determined  that  it 
should  be  his  own ;  so  here  was  the  bird  to  produce 
unbounded  admiration ;  and  Bob,  who  felt  that  this  act 
of  relieving  the  parson  was  one  of  the  most  meritorious 
kind,  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Soms  laughed  to  think 
how  the  rector  would  deplore  liis  less,  and  demand  the 
arrest  of  the  unknown  "  beak  hunter,"  while  others  w^re 
perhaps  speculating  in  their  own  stupid  way  whether  the 
sermon  which  the  rector  might  preach  that  day  in  Betnell 
church  would  be  one  on  charity  and  forgiveness,  or 
whether  its  text  and  burden  would  be,  in  conformity  with 
his  every  day  practice  tow^ards  the  sinners  of  the  Houth, 
"an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tootli." 

After  having  related  some  of  his  minor  adventures  dur- 
ing his  raid  into  the  parishes,  Bob  Cuffer  gave  his  eager 
hearers  some  of  the  news.  "  Nance  Carey,  hur  that  was  in 
for  a  vami)'  i'  th'  woorkhoose,  smootliored  her  young  un, 
an  then  tried  to  set  fire  t'  th'  place ;  there  was  th'  doevii  to 
pay  amoong  them,  an  all  were  cursing  Nance;  an  noo 
she'  1  be  lagged  surely,  oonioss  wo  got  hur  oot  sum  way. 
An'  Dick  Vance,  him  tliat  got  hur  th'  kid,  has  coot,  and 
run  off,  cause  Rockett  gav  a  warrant  ver  un.  Little  mercy 
vur  Nance  i'  th'  parson's  prison;  Rockett  aint  purtickler 
hoo  he  deals  wi'  oor  kind  i'  th'  woorkhoose. 

"Rocket! "  exclaimed  one  of  the  women,  ''whoy  wen 
his  maid  throost  hur  twins  i'  th'  doong  pit,  the  parson 


tHK  UEATUBN8   OF  TUK  HEATH. 


87 


hooshed  it*oop,  an  helped  hur  wi' cash  to  gan  off;  but 
seems  th'  rector  knew  moro'n  ho  ought  to  as  who  th' 
father  uv  th'  babbies  was;  soema  his  wife  know  more'n 
she  cared  vur  too,  an  she  hooriod  tli'  wench  away." 

•'Oy,"said  another  woman,  "'twere  cans  th' babbies 
wur  his'n;  an  'twant  the  foorst  lass  that  he  sarved  th' 
loike,  and  mayhap  woont  be  the  last  oonless  his  wife  can 
keep  a  watch  on  un  bettor ;  but  he  don't  care  vur  she,  he'd 
bung  hur  eyes  iv  she  said  a  woord." 

"  Wull  let  th'  parson  go  vur  a  bit,"  resumed  Bob 
Cuflfer,  "  he's  npot  else  to  do  arter  he  prays  an  feeds  o' 
Sunday,  an  more'n  I  knows  vur  what  he  sent  his  maid  off, 
but  av  he  hurts  Nance  vur  dooin  once,  what  he  knows 
lots  o*  th'  groat  uns  oop  in  Loonun  doos  a'  th'  time,  we 
maun  call  an  see  im  sum  night  when  th'  moon's  abed." 
This  threat  against  the  rector  was  well  received,  and  Bob 
then  spoke  on  in  the  matter  of  news.  *'  The  chap  they 
calls  th'  bishoop  oot  o'  Loonun,  or  sum  oother  great  place, 
is  a  coomin  doon  t'  th'  parishes,  an  Rockett  an  a  whole 
lot  o'  parson  chaps  will  bo  along  t'  convarm-  yes,  t'  con- 
varm ;  thai  maun  be  it." 

"Convarm?  what's  that,"  exclaimed  one. 

"  Whoy,  I  dunno,"  said  Bob,  soraiohing  his  head  rather 
reflectively,  "it's  t'  convarm  1'  tii'  choorch,  they  sez. 
They  gets,  I  b'lieve,  a  lot  o'  maids  an  chaps  drest  oop 
loike  t'  gan  t'  th'  choorch,  and  then  they  gavs  em  summat 
vur  a  dance  at  th'  gloamin  ;  .lud  then  this  ere  bishoop  an 
tir  parson  chaps  puts  off  vur  th'  rector's  an  has  a  goort 
veed  o'  wittles,  an  artcr  that  they  laJccs  summat  to  drink ; 
and  they  all  gang  t'  anootlier  choorch' and  begins  again 
I'.ike." 

"Convarm,  ovT  know  it  ii.»\v."8aid  the  landlord,  fan- 
cying that  he  had  made  a  discovery.  "  I'll  joost  convarm 
my  bitch  here  again  ony  that  th'  bishoop  brings  vrom 
Loonun  or  oot  else.  I'll  wage  on  thee,  lass ;  that  I  will," 
and  he  again  patted  the  bull  slut,  on  the  counter. 

"I  aint  sure  that's  it,"  said  Bob  Cuffer— "  it  may  be- 
but  he  wont  coora  hero  to  convarm  or  tight  wi  th'  deevil 


f 


88 


THE  MRATHEN8  OF  tME  UBATfi. 


» 


hisael,  or  th'  bitch  either;  or  any  other  on  tli*  plain. 
But,  hark,  I've  got  oother  news  vur  all,"  and  then  lower- 
ing his  voice  a  little,  he  said,  "  ther's  one  will  coom  doon 
here  soon,  one's  that's  not  a  parson,  nor  a  rect'r,  nor  noot 
oot  kind,  but  i*  furriner,  a  cove  vrom  far  abrood,  that's 
coom  herr  t'  buy  oop  all  this  land ;  and  he's  bought  it  vur 
sartin ;  the  aud  manor  hoo.so,  an  all  the  aud  estate  o* 
Mayston,  an  he'll  coom  hero  sure,  an  mayhap  pull  doon 
th'  Rook's  Neat,  an  turn  oot  th'  rooks,  and  level  this  aud 
Bull  Dog  house  t'  th'  groond,  an  pull  doon  everything,  an 
hoont  us  all  off  vur  varmin— that's  what  th'  rect'r,  you 
know,  calls  we,  varmin— an  we'll  all  ha  vt'  gan  off  t'  th* 
woorkhouse,  or  off  wi  th'  gypsies." 

This  part  of  the  news  caused  no  little  excitement. 
There  was  a  storm  of  oaths,  and  there  were  threats  of 
tierce  dettance,  which  were  not  mere  idle  threats;  but 
which,  to  carry  out,  every  man,  and  many  of  the  women 
present,  would  have  risked  life  or  limb ;  and  wore  it  neces- 
sary, many  of  them  would  be  then  and  there  ready  to 
apply  the  torch,  or  to  use  the  knife  or  the  bullet  in  defence 
of  the  title  which  they  considered  they  had  to  the  Heath 
by  virtue  of  long  possession. 

In  a  few  minutes,  when  the  explosion  of  anger  had 
nearly  passed,  Bob  CuCfer  went  on  to  relate  how  he  got 
his  information.  He  said  that,  when  passing  through 
Pendell,  he  had  met  old  Stephen— who  was  regarded  even 
as  a  friend  by  all  on  the  Heath— and  that  Stephen  had 
told  him  that  a  stranger  had  called  at  old  Sarah  Af ton's 
cottage,  to  make  some  inquiries  about  Pendell  and  its 
neighborhood,  and  about  some  of  its  old  inhabitants,  and 
about  some  also  who  had  been  long  dead ;  that  Sarah  had 
sent  the  stranger  to  Stephen,  and  that  they  both  wont 
together  to  the  Pendell  grave  yard  to  try  and  find  an  old 
family  tombstone,  so  old  that  even  Stephen  himself  was 
unable  to  make  the  discovery.  The  stranger  had  a  book— 
a  chronicle  of  Pendell— which  he  consulted  from  time  to 
time.  Ho  then  told  Stephen  to  get  him  a  spade,  and,  after 
a  little  time,  he  commenced  to  dig  in  a  distant  aud  over- 


»H«  uiut«.Ks  OF  Ta.  „uta. 
provvn  i'orner  of  the  ' 

«"",  «nd  th«  when  K^  "'?"•  '°  '"»  ""Sle  of  tl.o 
-^"I'th  from  the  surface  hfu'Z     T^  """'^  «  '<«>'  i" 
'""e  and  most  of  the  letters  onilb",  "  "'"'"•'  '""'•    ^l.e 
™"'dnotbe  made  out  bu"  the  n      '*"*'"■'''"'"•"  «"«>■. 
l"^  a  oro8s  with  the  usual  ml  """'•    '''""'  V«»"ant," 
having  been  out  deeper  th'T*^™"'  '""^-I-  H.  S.l 
-"■d  be  Plain,,  seen'   T  ,t"  '^^  "'"o'  ""'ds  or  letters, 
of  t-.e  stranger's,  and  he  00!,,!^.,    ??" *  "'  »''  """^^o-' 
told  Stephen  that  he  ho^  e' I'V"'" '''' ''°'»''-    He  then 

he  o,d  Mayston  estat'thth  he""  .'".""'  '"  '■"'"has., 
'h    r  ^   ^^^,^^.   ^_^^  Which  ho  sa,d  had  bolongeU  t„ 

and  malce  some  improvements     ^/'"'"  ^'"'  "'obsession 
e'i  Stephen  han.lsomely  and  th       /"  "" '""  "«  ^°™rd. 

^oZanXZ'onZTa  TJ""''  "•''  '«'""-.  a  gyp,, 
-en  to  become  St     reVst'h   "t  '"«  "-  - 
name  that  was  found  on  tTe  slab  ,n  tf "  '"'""°"  "'  "'e 
then  stood  and  appeared  to  listen  „,^     »  ^'''"'*  ''"■•''  ■  «ho 
"as  saying,  and  when  he  h!^  1  '^''''^'J""' ''hat  Boh 
f  peat  the  name  whleh  the     .      ""■  ""o  "'''ed  him  to 

A'ter  this.  She  was  se'n.Xr'XT  "''   *'«-«- 
--  agypsyoamp.  -ieh^ratTC:  ;-?;-. 

'.-^•toTrCt:;-^^ 

do  vur  un-an  he  main  be  glad ^1?*"  "^'^-we'll  soon 
woorse  than  Bob  left  the  baUee  ?• '*'^'  "^  ""''"'  ^'^  '"^e  un 

-ther!  "l:-nre"  I'loT-'r  ''''"  "  '»-  to- 
others  made  similar  e^pLlts  "'"  ""•"    «"""  <">- 

o«...7a::i;;;;^rbi;-^^^^^^^^  h;eoo„s,..said  bo., 

--Id.n.ttroostunabit;an-r^o^„r„Xdr„:d" 


u 


06 


tllfi  fiAAtU^NS  OF  tBE  HEATH. 


tl 


If! 


pars'n  tribe,  or  u  frload  o'  Rookett's,  I'll  lay  ho  woon*t 
trooblo  us  loug." 

A  number  of  men  from  the  Rook's  inn  then  entered ; 
more  liquor  was  demanded,  and  Nod  Bogg's  oye  glistened 
again  while  he  was  measuring  out  the  liory  fluid.  Among 
others  that  then  came  was  Jack  Clench,  Bob's  antagonist, 
a  stout  follow  like  Bob  himself.  Both  looked  smiling  and 
deflant,  and  they  had  a  glass  together,  as  if  to  certify 
before  all  that  they  were  prepared  to  meet  that  day  in 
fair  fight.  Several  persons  could  now  be  seen  around  here 
and  there  with  cocks  and  dogs;  there  was  quite  a  collec- 
tion of  those  animals.  The  day's  si)ort  was  about  to  begin 
and  all  seemed  eager  to  witness  the  usual  scenes  of  cruelty 
and  blood,  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  those  scenes  of 
recreation  should  close  with  the  death  of  a  dog,  or  the 
death  of  a  human  being. 


i 


II 


CHAPTER   X. 

BRITISH  AND  FOREIGN  HEATHEN. 

npHE  gypsy  woman  who  hurried  away  from  the  inn 
■*-  after  she  had  heard  Bob  Cuffer  give  an  account  of 
his  interview  with  old  Stephen  at  Pondell,  wont  on  mood- 
ily towards  the  gypsy  camp.  This  was  situated  on  a 
distant  part  of  the  Heath  where  the  scattered  trees  afford- 
ed some  little  shade.  The  oamp  wad  composed  of  a  num- 
ber of  huts  and  a  few  tents.  These  huts  were  much  better 
than  those  occupied  by  the  plodding  laborers  at  the  brick 
yards;  there  was  some  show  of  neatness  around  the 
dwellings,  even  a  few  flowers  could  be  seen.  Among  the 
tents  was  one  a  little  removed  from  the  rest,  into  which 
the  gypsy  woman  entered.  This  person  was  called  Ma- 
heel,  and  was  known  on  the  plain  as  the  gypsy  lady.  She 
was  in  the  prime  of  life,  reputed  to  be  of  superior  caste, 
and  might  have  been  called  handsome  were  it  not  for  her 
very  dark  skin,  her  restless  eye,  and  the  sinister  expres- 
sion which  seemed  at  times  to  disfigure  her  features,  that 
were  otherwise  almost  perfect.  Though  the  period  of 
her  residence  on  the  Heath  had  been  but  a  few  weeks,  yet 
she  alieo,dy  possessed  some  influence  with  the  wandering 
people,  and  was  deferred  to  by  many.  She  must  have  had 
some  means  of  support,  for  she  engaged  in  no  kind  of 
employment,  but  why  she  came,  or  why  she  remained, 
perplexed  even  the  gypsies  themselves. 

Squatted  in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  was  Zlngari,  a  venera- 
ble gypsy  women,  whose  age  was  said  to  be  over  a  hund- 


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tHE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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iiir' 


red  years.  Her  hair  was  perfectly  white,  her  face— once 
perhaps  beautiful— was  wrinkled  and  sallow,  but  her  black 
eyes  were  intelligent,  and  though  now  sunken,  had  even 
still  much  of  the  lingering  fire  of  youth.  The  whole  tribe 
regarded  her  with  reverence,  for  they  believed  that  none 
could  equal  her  in  dealing  in  mysteries  and  forestalling 
events;  and  certain  strangers  from  the  parishes  would 
sometimes  venture  to  call  for  such  information  as  they 
believed  she  alone  could  give.  It  was  with  this  old  woman 
that  Maheel  for  some  reason  preferred  to  reside.  She  was 
attentive  to  the  aged  occupant,  who  was  however  strange- 
ly reserved  even  towards  her ;  and  they  had  little  commu- 
nication with  others. 

Old  Zingari  sat  knitting  a  kind  of  woolen  garment,  and 
while  thus  engaged  she  was  humming  a  wild  but  melan- 
choly air,  to  which  the  younger  woman,  while  looking 
vacantly  at  the  busy  fingers  of  the  other,  was  apparently 
listening ;  and  though  no  words  were  heard,  the  air  itself 
seemed  to  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  the  listener. 

After  some  hesitation  Maheel  stooped  and  whispered  a 
few  words  in  a  strange  tongue.  The  old  woman  did  not 
even  look  up,  she  became  silent,  as  if  she  had  forgotten 
her  sad  strain.  In  a  few  moments  she  slowly  replied— 
"  Better  for  thee  not  to  hear  my  words." 

"Thy  speech,  Zingari,  will  be  now  most  welcome— 
thou  can'st  explain;  besides  I  long  to  know  what  of  my 
past  or  future  thou  perchance  can'st  read.  What  of  that 
ancient  name ;  to  whom  did  it  belong  ?  " 

•'  I  know  the  name,  Maheel,  it  is  of  one  long  dead ;  but 
there's  a  living  man  to  claim  it  still— and  him  thou 
knowst." 

Maheel  seemed  disconcerted  and  whispered  to  her 
again,  and  again  Zingari  replied:  "Guilt  breeds  more 
terror  than  the  whirlwind.  Why  dreads  the  worshiper  of 
Kali?*'* 

"Nay,  Zingari,  Maheel  will  worship  only  Christna,  the 
beautiful  Christna,  the  son  of  the  virgin  Devanaguy." 

•  The  wife  of  Siva. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEAXH. 


93 


)Ut 

ler 

)re 

of 

he 


"  But  Christna,  the  benevolent,  is  pleased  with  no  sac- 
rifice of  blood,  that  cruel  rite  is  for  Siva,  and  for  Moses ; 
and  it  is  the  hope  of  the  benighted  Christian." 

"I  have  no  hope  in  such  a  rite,  Zingari,  my  hope  and 
trust  are,  like  thine  own,  in  Christna." 

"  Sayst  thou  in  blessed  Christna!  Hath  not  the  dau.?h- 
ter  of  a  Brahmin  become  a  Christian  and  a  Pariah  ?  Bet- 
ter for  her  to  be  even  of  the  Devadassas  f  in  the  temple 
of  Siva." 

"  Why  thus  thy  speech,  Zingari  ?  Blood  of  sacred  beast 
or  of  human  being  I've  never  shed.  My  richest  offerings 
are  for  Christna,  who  will  come  again.  "J 

"Believest  thou  this?  And  hast  thou  still  thy  caste? 
Stay!  Let  me  see  thy  hand."  Here  the  old  gypsy  took 
Maheel's  hand,  and  after  having  looked  closely  at  the 
palm,  said :  "The  cross  hath  touched  thine  hand,  not  as 
an  ancient  symbol  of  our  race,  but  as  the  token  of  thine 
apostacy.  There  is  no  blood  mark  here  as  yet,  but  there's 
a  stain  I  see  almost  as  vile.  Maheel !  Thou  hast  stolen 
the  blood  of  the  living !  " 

The  young  gypsy  woman  started  to  her  feet ;  she  look- 
ed fiercely  at  old  Zingari,  who  seemed  to  heed  her  not 
but  re-commenced  her  knitting ;  and  soon  again  her  hum- 
ming voice  was  heard,  and  words  were  now  muttered  with 
the  wild  strain,  as  if  of  prophetic  meaning. 

Maheel,  apparently  stupifled,  stood  listening  at  the 
entrance  of  the  tent ;  and  now,  like  one  affrighted,  she 
watched  the  shadow  of  a  great  cloud  sweep  across  the 
plain,  and  onward  toward  one  of  the  lonf?  sheds,  in  whic<i 
several  wearied  children  were  seeking  rest  from  the  effects 
of  the  most  inhuman  toil.  Under  a  sudden  impulse,  Rb« 
rushed  after  the  shadow  until  she  reached  the  shed. 
Though  stern  and  indifferent  as  she  could  be,  her  heart 
felt  a  touch  of  pity  when  she  witnessed  the  sad  condition 

t  Virgins  attached  to  the  service  of  the  Brahrainical  Trinity  in 
Pagodas  and  in  Temples. 

t  The  Hindoo  religion  teaches  that  Christna  will  appear  again  on 
earth,  as  the  tenth  Avatar  of  Vishnu,  to  conquer  the  prince  of  Demons, 
or  Baok<;hasas,  before  the  flnal  destruction  of  all  things. 


94 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


111 


of  the  overworked  children.^  They  lay  around  in  rags- 
some  almost  in  a  state  of  nudity— and  with  scratched  and 
bleeding  limbs,  upon  which  the  dried  mud  was  thick 
enough  to  crack  in  flakes.  They  all  appeared  to  be  in  an 
Vitter  state  of  prostration.  A  few  of  the  more  rugged 
filept ;  a  few  others  were  feverish  and  raving,  while  two  or 
three  were  panting  as  if  the  last  gasp  was  soon  to  close 
their  sufferings.  One  boy,  of  about  ten  years,  lay  upon 
his  back,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  now  and  then  he 
would  throw  out  his  arms  and  cry  pitifully  for  water. 
Near  to  him,  a  girl,  scarcely  his  age,  was  huddled  under  a 
few  rags,  and  lay  quite  still.  Maheel  looked  at  several  of 
the  little  faces,  as  if  anxious  to  recognize  some  one  she 
knew;  but  the  withered  expression  upon  all  had  made 
every  face  strange.  Once  or  twice  she  made  bare  an  arm, 
as  if  to  discover  some  mark,  but  each  arm  was  too  unclean 
or  too  much  scratched  or  bruised  to  leave  any  ordinary 
mark  distinguishable.  She  then  approached  the* sleeping 
girl,  and  gently  uncovered  her  face.  She  gazed  a  moment 
like  one  terror-stricken,  and  then  shrieked  and  started 
back— the  poor  girl  was  dead. 

As  Maheel  turned  to  leave  the  wretched  place,  she  saw 
a  little  boy,  who  had  just  entered,  stoop  to  wet  the  parch- 
ed lips  of  the  one  who  had  been  crying  for  water.  There 
was  something  peculiar  in  his  appearance ;  he  might,  at 
first  view,  be  taken  for  some  gypsy  child,  and  might 
have  passed  for  one,  were  it  not  that  his  hair  was  a  dark 
brown  and  curly.  As  he  held  a  dirty  tin  cup  to  the  mouth 
of  the  boy,  his  bare  brown  right  arm  was  exposed,  and 
above  the  wrist,  on  the  inside  of  this  arm,  a  small  circle 
or  ring  had  been  tattooed.  When  Maheel  saw  this,  she 
grasped  his  arm,  and  looked  closely  at  the  mark.  The 
b6y  seemed  to  know  her  at  once,  but  without  saying  a 
word,  she  rushed  away  and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  tent 
of  old  Zingari. 

It  was  about  noon ;  the  pious  of  the  adjoining  parishes 
were  at  their  devotions,  and  the  two  inns  on  the  Heath 
^ere  well  filled.    The  boors  at  the  "  Kook's  Nest "  had 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


95 


drunk  their  quota ;  and  those  at  the  "  Bull  Dog  "  were  not 
behind  in  this  respect.  Matches  and  bets  had  been  made, 
and  most  present  were  in  a  fair  state  of  preparation  for 
the  enjoyment  of  their  usual  sport.  Already  several  stout 
lads,  precocious  in  yillainy,  had  here  and  there  been  test- 
ing the  fighting  qualities  of  timid  bantams,  and  training 
the  vicious  young  of  the  canine  kind  to  snuffle  and  yelp 
for  blood.  All,  however,  boin;,'  now  ready  for  greater 
feats  of  brutality,  an  open  level  si)aee  between  the  two 
inns  was  chosen.  This  was  the  usual  arena  for  gladiato- 
rial contests  of  all  kinds,  and  here  it  generally  was,  that 
men — even  sometimes  women — boys,  dogs  and  birds  fought 
and  battered  and  tortured  one  another  on  Sundays,  to  win 
trifling  sums,  or  to  gain  the  applause  of  a  crowd  of  ruf- 
fians. 

A  rude  fence  encircled  this  space  or  ring,  and  after  a 
few  preliminaries,  Bob  Cuflfer  entered  the  enclosure  with 
the  game  cock  which  he  had  stolen  from  parson  Rockett, 
and  offered  to  -lay  an  extra  crown  that  that  bird  would 
beat  any  other  which  could  be  produced.  A  stout  hainer 
from  the  *'  Rooks  "  took  the  bet,  and  set  down  a  cock 
much  more  showy  than  the  one  in  which  Bob  had  such 
confidence.  The  crowd  had  pushed  and  pressed  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  ring,  bets  were  boastingly  renewed,  the 
birds  were  set  facing  each  other,  and  the  fight  began.  At 
first  the  miner's  bird,  being  the  largest,  seemed  to  have  it 
all  his  own  way;  the  other,  however,  held  out  best;  he 
tore  the  comb  and  feathers  from  his  antagonist;  and» 
finally,  amid  shouts  and  jeers,  drove  him  from  the  ring. 
The  miner  was  so  enraged  at  this,  that  he  caught  his 
panting  bird,  trampled  it  into  the  earth,  and  then  flung 
the  dead  fowl  into  the  face  of  one  of  the  men  who  had  bet 
against  him.  Both  men,  being  angry  and  excited,  like 
many  around,  struck  each  other,  and  a  furious  fight  would 
have  taken  place,  were  it  not  for  the  interference  of  some 
who  preferred  to  see  regular  sport,  and  who  did  not  want 
such  interrupted  by  a  common  hasty  quarrel. 

Ned  Bogg,  the  landlord  of  the  "Bull  Dog,"  now  canaQ 


a 


'.*)i 


i 


T 


96 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m  u 


iit  -.1 


??i:-i' 


III: 


forward  with  his  great  bull  slut.  His  coarse  visage  and 
blinking  eyes  were  forbidding  by  the  eagerness  of  manner 
which  he  exhibited.  A  slut  of  similar  appearance  was 
brought  on  the  ground  by  Tom  Slaughter,  the  host  of  the 
"Rook's  Nest."  Tom  felt  confidence  in  his  animal,  and 
had  bet  heavily  on  her,  and  his  clownish  swagger  and  sin- 
ister aspect  seemed  suitable  for  the  time  and  place.  It 
may  be  well  to  state  that  these  respected  landlords  made 
it  a  point  to  be  always  opposed  to  each  other ;  and  more 
than  one  trial  of  bodily  strength  and  endurance  had  taken 
place  between  them,  each  bearing  some  permanent  scar 
to  remind  him  of  his  adversary;  and  Ned  Bogg  must 
bear  to  his  grave  such  a  memento,  even  the  loss  of  an 
eye. 

The  unruly  crowd  of  spectators  again  pushed  and 
squabbled  in  their  greed  to  witness  the  coming  fray.  In  a 
short  time  word  was  given,  and  the  dogs  were  let  loose. 
The  vicious  brutes  rushed  together,  and  seized  hold  at 
once,  each  one  pulling  and  tugging  against  the  other. 
Now  Ned  would  shout  to  encourage  his  animal ;  then  Tom 
Slaughter  would  yell  louder  in  defiance.  Now  one  d^jg 
would  come  down,  but  to  quickly  rise  and  tumble  the 
the  other;  and  the  struggle  was  continued  for  several 
minutes,  neither  dog  seeming  to  be  the  gainer.  In  order 
to  give  them  fresh  hold,  the  animals  were  separated  by  a 
great  effort,  and  the  maddened  brutes,  chafing  in  their 
blood,  could  with  difficulty  be  held  back.  Tom  Slaughter, 
growing  more  confident  in  the  power  or  endurance  of  his 
favorite,  taunted  his  opponent,  and  dared  him  to  double 
the  bets.  Ned  Bogg,  quite  enraged,  took  him  up,  and 
shouted  that  his  slut,  if  she  had  but  three  legs,  would  be 
more  than  a  match  for  Tom's  bitch,  with  four.  Tom's 
jeering  reply  only  exasperated  Ned,  who,  without  saying 
a  word,  took  hold  of  his  own  dog,  and,  having  tumbled 
her,  seized  a  short  iron  bar,  and  fiendishly  snapped  one 
of  her  hind  legs.*    This  brutal  act  was  applauded  by  sev- 

*  A  similar  act  was  once  perpetrated  at  a  doK  flght  in  England:  th9 
PWaer  chopped  off  his  dorp's  leg  with  » l;>utober'8  cleaver. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THK  HEATH. 


97 


oral,  and  the  yelling,  limping  animal  was  again  let  loose, 
and  again  her  savage  instincts  led  her  to  snatch  hold  of 
her  assailant.  As  it  was,  the  maimed  animal  made  a  des- 
perate struggle,  as  if  indifferent  to  her  terrible  injury ; 
but  the  fight  was  too  unequal,  and  after  a  few  fierce,  but 
wild  attempts,  she  gave  way  and  tried  to  escape  from  the 
ring. 

All  at  once  there  were  shouts  and  threats  and  great 
confusion ;  the  din  of  oaths  and  foul  language  was  hor- 
rible. The  landlords  and  their  adherents  dared  one  an- 
other ;  blows  were  struck,  and  the  two  principals  stripped 
to  fight,  but  the  umpire,  one  of  the  miners,  a  powerful 
and  determined  looking  fellow,  named  Harry  Tamblin, 
with  the  aid  of  others,  kept  them  apart,  and,  for  over  an 
hour,  it  required  the  greatest  effort  to  prevent  a  general 
row,  and  to  get  the  excitement  sufficiently  calmed  to  per- 
mit the  chosen  actors  of  the  next  bloody  struggle  to  make 
their  appearance. 

All  were  again  in  waiting.  The  crowd  had  increased ;  a 
greater  number  of  women  and  boys  were  among  the  spec- 
tators. Harry  Tamblin,  master  of  the  ring — who  was 
resolute  for  fair  play— had  completed  his  arrangements 
for  the  next  hideous  entertainment,  and  it  was  expected 
that  the  coming  struggle  would  be  the  one  most  suitable 
for  the  expectant  savages. 

Two  clownish  looking  men  sprang  briskly  into  the  ring. 
One  was  Bob  Cuffer,  and  the  other  was  Jack  Clench,  a 
noted  wrestler  from  the  mines.  Both  were  strong,  active 
men,  and  had  that  acquired  swagger  indicative  of  the 
defiant  bully.  They  were  stripped  to  the  waist.  One  wore 
great,  heavy  clogs,  and  the  other  had  thick,  hob-nailed 
shoes.  This  was  the  usual  way  in  which  pugilists  and 
wrestlers  on  the  Heath  were  shod  as  a  preparation  for 
"purring,"  which  maybe  explained  as  the  dextrous  use 
of  the  feet  in  kicking  the  shins,  breaking  the  ribs,  punch- 
ing out  the  eyes,  or  exposing  the  brains  of  an  opponent, 

Harry  Tamblin  now  placed  the  men  in  the  centre. 
They  stood  at  ease,  with  arms  folded,  and  wearing  a  smile 


f    V 


r 


98 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


H  i 
11 1 


f 


1 


lit; 


<^ 


of  indifference.  The  restless,  scrambling  crowd  wore 
once  more  pushed  back,  and  the  word  was  given  to  begin. 
The  two  men  then  cooly  placed  their  hands  on  the  bare 
shoulders  of  each  other,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  on 
the  alert.  Then  one  gave  a  quick  shove  back,  the  other  a 
sudden  side  jerk.  These  motions  were  repeated,  each  man 
being  cool  and  guarded.  Then  there  was  jerking,  and 
kicking,  and  already  their  shins  were  cut  and  bleeding. 
They  then  closed  and  seized  each  other  round  the  body, 
and  tried  to  twist  and  hook  their  legs;  there  was  more 
kicking,  and  from  their  knees  to  their  ankles  was  a  mass 
of  cuts,  bruises,  and  blood ;  but  the  men  being  about  an 
equal  match,  neither  as  yet  fell.  Bob  Cuffer  made  des- 
perate efforts  to  throw  his  man,  but  his  wounded  arm 
appeared  to  give  him  some  trouble.  His  antagonist  seem- 
ed to  know  this,  and,  after  several  attempts,  he  Succeeded 
in  giving  Bob  a  heavy  fall.  The  two  men  were  now  down, 
and  'they  rolled,  and  tumbled,  and  kicked  each  other  with 
savage  ferocity;  and  now  the  furious  struggle  began  to 
excite  the  bystanders.  Bob  Cuffer  was  still  under,  and  he 
clenched  his  teeth  first  in  the  cheek,  and  next  in  the  arm 
of  his  adversary,  and  held  on  to  the  bleeding  flesh  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  the  firmness  of  his  hold.  The  other 
man  partly  raised  himself,  and  commenced  to  kick  Bob 
on  the  side,  breast,  and  face,  while  his  particular  friends 
shouted,  "  Noos  thees  got  'im,  Jack,  go  into  'im,  lad ;  purr 
his  yed,  do ;  that's  a  good  un  ;  smash  anoother  rib  vur  im. 
Eh,  Jack,  shoort  a  great  un,  purr  'im,  i'  th'  goots.  Ha! 
he  veels  thee  noo.  Jack ;  go  in,  lad— that's  it."  * 

The  unfortunate  man  that  was  being  thus  brutally 
treated,  still  held  on  with  his  teeth,  and  Bob's  friends 
would  cry  out,  by  way  of  encouragement,  "  Hold  thee  in 
to  'im,  Bob,  hold  un,  lad,  hee'l  soon  give  way,  lad ;  keep 
thy  moothful,  that's  a  good  un  ;  "  but  a  few  more  of  the 
merciless  kicks  would  have  finished  Bob,  were  it  not  that 
Harry  Tamblin,  who  thought  it  was  time  to  interfere,  got 


•  See  Note  8. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


99 


illy 
Inds 

in 
leep 
Ithe 
Ihat 

got 


others  to  assist  him  in  separating  tlie  combatants ;  and 
when  they  now  stood  before  each  other,  the  sight  was  re- 
volting. Bob  Cuffer  was  one  mass  of  blood  and  bruises 
from  his  head  to  his  feet.  Three  of  his  ribs  had  been  bro- 
ken ;  his  left  eye  had  been  kicked  out,  and  it  hung  by  the 
tendons  on  his  face.  Jack  Clench  in  appearance  was 
almost  as  bad ;  a  large  hole  was  in  his  cheek,  from  which 
a  piece  had  been  bitten,  and  there  was  a  terrible  gaping 
wound  on  his  arm,  from  which  the  blood  flowed  copiously. 
As  the  men  stood  yet  defiantly  before  each  other — a  horrid 
spectacle— and  evidently  not  unwilling  to  renew  their 
savagery,  the  quick  rattle  of  wheels  was  heard;  all  eyes 
were  turned  in  one  direction.  A  pair  of  horses  and  a  car- 
riage drove  hurredly  up  to  the  ring.  Two  persons  were 
seated  in  the  vehicle.  Old  Stephen's  white  hair  and  bent 
form,  were  at  once  recognized ;  the  strange  gentleman  who 
had  been  driving,  immediatery  sprang  from  his  seat,  and 
dashed  into  the  centre  of  the  ring.  He  got  between  the 
two  bleeding  wretches;  he  seized  them  both,  and  held 
them  apart  at  arm's  length,  then  quickly  looking  at  them 
and  those  around  him,  his  thrilling  voice  cried  out  aloud, 
"  Are  ye  human  beings,  or  devils  ?  " 

Was  it  the  strange  voice  that  had  startled  the  young 
gypsy  woman  ?  Maheel  had  been  out  on  the  plain,  and 
had  seen  the  carriage  approaching.  Impelled  by  a  singu- 
lar«feeling,  she  followed  it  closely,  and  as  soon  as  she  had 
a  full  view  of  the  stranger,  and  had  heard  his  voice,  she 
started  off  as  if  in  alarm,  and  once  more  entered  the  dis- 
tant tent  of  Zingari. 


CHAPTEB   Xr. 

JOHN  VALIANT,  A  MISSIONARY. 


i 


m 


I 


1 1 


rpHOSE  who  had  been  dwellers  in  the  Heath  during  a 
■*-  life  time  of  from  sixty  to  seventy  years  or  upwards, 
could  fairly  assert  that  they  had  never  been  more  aston- 
ished at  the  daring  of  a  complete  stranger  than  they  were 
at  the  conduct  of  the  unknown  man  who  now  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  ring,  and  who  not  only  reproved  the  combat- 
ants but  sternly  reproached  those  who  stood  around  as 
spectators  of  the  disgraceful  struggle.  The  wild  people 
looked  at  one  another  in  amazement,  scarcely  believing 
the  evidence  of  their  senses.  Many  of  them  stood  agape, 
quite  undecided  whether  to  act  according  to  their  usual 
impulse,  and  rob  and  maltreat,  or  give  a  death-blow  to 
the  officious  intruder ;  while  others  around  seemed  as  if 
awe  struck  by  something  which  appeared  too  elevated  &,nd 
commanding  in  the  stranger.  One  herculean  woman  who 
felt  rather  interested  in  Bob  Cuffer,  and  who  misunder- 
standing the  motives  of  the  unknown  man,  and  under  the 
influence  of  old  hostility  to  outsiders,  had  raised  a  huge 
club  and  was  about  to  strike  down  the  unflinching  media- 
tor, but  was  held  back  by  Harry  Tamblin,  who,  though  a 
kind  of  referee  or  leader  among  these  people,  was  himself 
as  much  surpris(^d  as  others  at  the  deliberate  manner  in 
which  the  stranger  proceeded  after  his  first  inteference 
with  the  wretched  champions.  The  wounded  men  seemed 
at  once  to  recognize  his  good  intentions,  and  they,  as  it 
were  instinctively,  obeyed  him.    He  directed  them  to  be 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


101 


seated  on  the  ground,  and  ho  carefully  examined  their 
Injuries,  while  old  Stephen  from  his  seat  in  the  earriago 
watched,  lilce  jthers,  his  proceedings  with  groat  interest. 
The  strange  Samaritan  first  attended  to  Bob  Cuffer,  who. 
was  in  a  bad  condition,  and  lilce  one  possessed  of  the  sl^ill 
of  a  surgeon,  he  replaced  his  eye  and  bandaged  his  wounds 
with  strips  of  linen  or  cotton  now  readily  procured  for  him 
by  some  of  the  women.  He  next  attended  to  Tom  Clench, 
and  with  the  aid  of  Harry  Tamblin,  who  was  now  willing 
enough  to  assist,  the  two  men  wore  able  to  leave  the  ring. 
The  waiting  but  suspicious  crowd  at  last  grew  more  satis- 
fled;  they  had  seen  a  generous  act  tenderly  performed 
without  fear  or  hope  of  reward,  and  after  a  while  they 
began  to  think  that  the  humane  volunteer  was  neither  an 
unfeeling  detective,  nor  an  enemy. 

It  may  be  here  proper  to  give  some  account  of  this 
unexpected  visitor.  When  William  the  Conqueror  landed 
in  England,  among  his  followers  from  the  French  provin- 
ces, was  one  from  Normandy,  who  had  proved  his  devotion 
by  many  important  services.  William  amply  rewarded 
his  true  friends,  and  to  this  one  in  particular,  he  granted 
a  large  estate  in  England— the  very  one  which  included 
the  Heath ;  and  also  recognizing  his  great  merit  as  a  sold- 
ier, he  surnamed  him  Vaillant— Jean  Vaillant.  This 
appellation  was  readily  adopted  as  a  family  name  by  the 
Norman  soldier,  and  by  his  descendants  for  a  long  period ; 
but  in  the  course  of  time,  as  the  French  names  Tonnelier, 
Boulanger,  and  Meunier,  had  become  Cooper,  Baker,  and 
Miller,  so  Vaillant  had  become  the  English  family  name 
of  Valiant,  and  has  thus  since  remained. 

Some  time  after  the  unexpected  death  of  the  Conqueror 
Jean  Vaillant  had  been  induced  to  join  the  Crusaders,  but 
like  thousands  of  other  deceived  fanatics  who  left  homo 
and  country  to  attack  the  Saracens,  he  never  returned 
from  Palestine.  His  family,  however,  ren»ained  in  England 
and  his  descendants  for  centuries  held  possession  of  the 
estate  which  had  been  granted  by  the  king,  until  in  the 
course  of  time,  during  a  period  of  revolution,  when  trea- 


'' 


102 


THE  HRATHESS  Of  fnt,  HF.ATTf. 


son  was  rifo,  and  when  kinply  tyrants  and  iisurpora 
followed  one  another  in  quick  auenession,  one  of  thrso 
royal  plunderers  had  confiscated  the  land  which  had  been 
^iven  to  the  Norman  soldier.  The  last  of  tv-o  Vaiilanls 
who  had  held  possession  was  slain  near  Pendell,  and  tho 
tomb  stone  which  had  been  i)laced  over  his  romtiins  whs 
that  whi(di  had  been  discovered  by  the  stnuifjjer  one  of 
his  descendents— whose  name  was  John  Valiant, 

This  last  representative  of  the  ancient  family  was  tho 
only  son  of  tho  Reverend  Henry  Valiant,  a  Protestant 
clergyman.  The  Valiants,  thoujjfh  originally  Roman  Cath- 
lics,  had  become  imbued  with  the  i)revailing  ideas  which 
followed  the  Reformation,  and,  guided  by  the  example  of 
kings,  bishops,  priests  and  men  high  in  authority,  had 
changed  their  faith.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Valiant  having 
been  eminently  pious,  was  selected  by  one  of  the  great 
missionary  societies  to  carry  the  gospel  message  to  tho 
"perishing"  natives  of  India;  and  John  Valiant,  then 
quite  young,  was  taken  from  school  in  order  to  accom- 
pany his  parents  to  Calcutta.  Tho  Reverend  Mr.  Valiant 
devoted  his  life  to  the  missionary  work,  and  though  he 
labored  assiduously  in  connection  with  such  men  as  Carey, 
and  Ward,  and  Duff,  and  Martin,  yet  near  the  close  of  his 
life,  which  was  prematurely  ended  in  India,  he  regretted 
to  be  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  tho  common  or  lowest 
caste  natives  of  that  country— whom  he  had  found  by  no 
comparison  to  be  as  destitute  and  UrS  grossly  ignorant  as 
the  same  class  of  persons  in  Britain— were  too  much  influ- 
enced by  the  superstitions  of  Hindooism  to  adopt  Chris- 
tianity. Nay,  he  had  also  found  many  of  the  learned 
Brahmins  bold  enough  to  assert  that  they  could  fairly 
prove,  that  the  religious  traditions  of  Persia,  of  Egypt,  of 
Judea,  of  Greece,  and  of  Rome,  had  had  their  origin  in 
India,  and  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible  itself  had  been 
drawn  from  the  great  fountain  of  all  religions,  the  sacred 
Vedas  of  the  Hindoos;  and  he  was  also  aware  that  the 
powerful  arguments  of  an  able  Brahmin  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  even  one  of  the  Christian   Missionaries  to 


I 


THE  HKATHKNH  Op  THE  HEATH. 


103 


clinn^'o  his  faith.*  After  his  father's  dcMith,  yomiR  John 
Vuliuiit  was  soon  called  upon  to  mourn  tlio  loss  of  his 
mother.  Thoujjrh  now  left  without  a  sinKlo  relative  in 
India,  ho  had,  however,  many  warm  friends,  and  ^MiidcMl 
by  them  he  remained  to  pursue  his  studies  in  one  of  the 
lu'ineipal  institutions  in  the  country.  While  liere  he 
became  intinuitely  acquainted  with  nmny  of  the  sons  of 
wealthy  natives,  who  wore  receiving  a  liberal  oduoatit)n, 
and  ho  was  surprised  to  find  that  though  these  yoting 
men  were  under  the  tuition  of  Christian  profes.sors,  and 
had  luid  many  opportunities  of  hearing  the  strongest 
arguments  which  could  be  adduced  in  f.o  .»r  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  yet  not  one  of  these  person-  Lo  his  know- 
ledge had  ever  changed  his  faith,  oracce|>ted  the  doctrines 
of  the  Bible. t  Being  a  close  applicai:  In  course  jf  time 
he  acquired  a  knowledge  of  Sanscrit,  and  cuuld  converse 
In  f^i'v  ostanee  and  other  native  tongues  and  ho  not  only 
became  well  versed  in  the  sacrod  literai.ure  of  the  Hindoos, 
but  had  on  many  occasions  heard  exi)Ositions  of  the  Vedas 
by  learned  Brahmins.  He  was  familiar  with  natives  ol 
every  caste,  and  was  so  liberal  in  his  opinions,  and  gen- 
erous in  his  impulses,  that  his  enlarged  views  and  benevo- 
lent disposition  made  him  a  general  favorite. 

Upon  leaving  college,  he  secured  an  engagomont  in  a 
wealthy  mercantile  house,  and  through  the  influence  of 
friends,  as  well  as  by  his  excellent  business  habits,  he  rose 
by  degrees  to  a  high  position,  and  traveled  as  a  super  in- 


4 


i? 


•  Missionary  Roberts  by  Rammohan  Roy. 

^  Tho  Reverend  Dr.  Prime,  alliulinglo  thoereat  Chrih>tinn colletccp 
pstablished  by  Dr.  Duff  and  oth>frs  in  C!aleulta,  and  which  '"  nmiibored 
nearly  fourteen  hundred  pupils."  admits  that  "theses  inslivuMona  are 
open  to  students  of  all  religions,  and  tho  inass  ol  them  ar^  Hindoos 
or  MoUammedanri.  Only  in  rare  instamses  have  they  jMnjuneed  the 
faith  nf  their  fathers,  while  fewer  still  have  become  '(.al  (liiristians. 

It  l.s  not  the  desire  to  beci>me  acujuainted  with  Christian  truth, 
niueh  less  to  bei'orae  Christians,  that  induf-es  so  many  youth  to 
crowd  those  foreign  seminaries  of  lo.iining.  They  are  anxious  to 
become  Qualifled  to  till  tho  various  lucrative  posts  which,  in  eonnec- 
tio)'.  with  the  commerce  and  business  of  the  country,  are  open  to  the 
nativea.'*-  Around  tho  World,  p.  215.    N.  York,  1872. 


it.:, 


104 


1?HB1  HEATHEKS  01'  DHE  HEATfl. 


m 


tendent  through  many  parts  of  India.  His  knowledge  of 
the  country  wa'=  extensive,  and  during  the  terrible  Sepoy 
rebellion,  he  proved  to  be  of  great  service  not  only  to  the 
government,  but  to  many  of  the  natives  by  his  interference 
in  their  behalf.  He  was  also  g-t  Cawnpore  during  that 
fearful  massacre  at  that  place,  and  while  there,  though  he 
was  himself  in  imminent  danger,  yet  he  succeeded  in  sav- 
ing the  life  of  one  distinguished  English  lady,  and  the 
life  of  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Parsee  merchant  of 
Bombay.  After  the  close  of  the  rebellion  he  went  to 
reside  in  that  city,  and  married  the  Parsee  lady  whom  he 
had  saved,  though  she  risked  the  loss  of  caste  in  marrying 
a  stranger.  He  lived  a  happy  life  with  her  for  about  ten 
years,  when  she  died,  leaving  him  one  son.  John  Valiant 
was  at  the  time  almost  inconsolable;  but  though  this 
affliction  was  terrible  yet  his  trouble  did  not  end  here. 
He  had  sent  his  son,  then  almost  eight  years  old,  on  a 
visit  to  some  of  his  mother's  relatives  nearly  one  hundred 
miles  from  Bombay,  and  in  about  a  month  from  the  time 
of  his  wife's  death,  the  news  reached  him  that  his  boy  had 
been  seized  by  some  wandering  Thug;s— whose  religion 
teaches  them  that  it  is  no  crime  to  murder — and  he  was 
tortured  by  the  most  dreadful  apprehensions.  Every 
effort  that  man  could  make  to  recover  this  child  had 
proved  unavailing.  Nearly  a  year  had  passed  in  the 
search,  and  the  only  consoling  Information  he  could  ob- 
tain concerning  him  was  that  a  child,  answering  the 
description  of  his  son,  had  by  some  means  got  into  the 
hands  of  a  Presbyterian  missionary  who  was  returning  to 
England,  and  that  the  boy  had  been  taken  to  that  country. 
Under  these  severe  afflictions  John  Valiant's  health  had 
become  much  impaired;  and  the  general  sympathy  for 
him  was  very  great.  Though  he  had  been  for  a  long  time 
in  the  hot  climate  of  India,  its  influence  at  this  juncture 
upon  his  constitution  was  rather  severe,  and  his  physician 
recommended  a  long  sea  voyage.  Such  a  voyage  he  found 
in  fact  to  be  necessary,  for  the  familiar  scenes  which  re- 
minded him  of  the  happy  days  he  had  spent  with  his  wife, 


lie 
In 


\ 


Tflli  liElA*HtiKS  Of  Trtfi  WliAtH. 


10.*, 


had  a  most  depressing  efifect  upon  his  spirits,  and  a  change 
might  be  beneficial.  Besides  it  was  his  duty  not  to  rest 
until  he  had  found  some  reliable  tidings  of  his  son ;  and 
he  made  up  his  mind  that  in  case  he  should  not  succeed 
in  his  search,  to  spend  his  wealth,  which  was  very  great, 
in  the  purchase,  if  possible,  of  the  old  family  estate  in 
England,  and  to  make  that  property  available  for  the 
benefit  of  a  class  of  overworked,  distressed  people  in  his 
native  country,  whom  he  believed  to  be  far  more  destitute 
and  degraded  than  any  similar  class  met  with  in  his  trav- 
els through  various  parts  of  India. 

In  fact,  the  life  of  John  Valiant  had  been  spent  so  far 
in  doing  good  to  othors ;  there  was  not  the  least  degree  of 
selfishness  in  his  nature.  Were  he  the  father  of  half  a 
dozen  sons,  he  would  not,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  enrich- 
ing them,  or  to  secure  for  them  a  life  of  sluggish  ease— as 
wealthy  esclesiastics  and  many  rich  Christians  are  wont 
to  do— forget  his  common  relationship  to  mankind.  From 
his  heart  he  pitied  the  children  of  others,  who  were  forced 
to  face  a  life  of  poverty  and  hardship;  and  he  did  all  he 
could  to  smooth  their  rugged  way.  His  theory  was,  that 
poverty  could  not  j^revail  to  any  great  extent^were  it  not 
for  the  general  grasping  and  cupidity  of  many  of  the 
great  and  the  wealthy.  He  believed  that  monopoly  of  the 
land— the  present  old  established  system— was  but  rob- 
bery, and  that  any  government  which  secured  vast  tracts 
of  real  estate,  either  by  grant  or  by  purchase,  to  one  indi- 
vidual, did  so  at  the  expense  of  the  natural  rights  of 
others.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  earth  was  the 
common  property  of  all,  and  that  every  person  was  enti- 
tled to  that  certain  portion  of  land,  sufficient  to  cultivate 
for  his  own  sustenance,  or  for  that  of  his  family— and  to 
that  portion  only;  that  by  such  a  distribution  of  the  land, , 
and  until  a  bette**  system  prevailed,  all  who  were  able  and 
willing  to  work,  would  be  comparatively  independent  and 
secure  fjom  poverty ;  the  aged,  the  sickly,  and  the  infirm, 
he  claimed,  should  be  supported  by  the  State,  as  children 
would  be  supported  by  a  kind  parent.    He  also  considered 


r 


m 


*aE  HtiAfflEl^S  OI*  trifi  flEAtri. 


ml 


that  so-called  existing  rights,  which  interfered  with  thd 
equitable  apportionment  of  land,  were  but  existing  wrongs 
which  legislation  should  abolish  as  speedily  as  possible. 
It  was  even  his  conviction  that  as  nations  found  it  neces- 
sary to  secure  a  balance  of  power  among  rulers,  and  were 
unwilling  to  permit  any  one  government  to  acquire  too 
many  possessions,  or  attain  too  extended  an  influence ; 
so,  in  order  to  prevent  mercantile  monopoly,  or  social 
tyranny,  individuals  should  be  limited  as  to  the  amount  of 
wealth  they  should  be  permitted  to  accumulate.  He 
would  often  sa^,  that  were  the  claims  of  Justice  but  fully 
granted,  the  labor  of  Charity  would  he  forever  very  light. 

Though  John  "Valiant  had  peculiar  notions  on  the  sub- 
ject of  religion,  and  though  perfectly  tolerant  to  all,  he 
had  given  no  aid  toward  the  erection  of  churches  or  tem- 
ples, or  places  of  worship  of  any  kind ;  yet  he  was  a  pat- 
ron of  schools,  of  colleges,  of  hospitals  and  of  asylums. 
Charitable  associations  had  been  formed  by  him,  ayd 
there  was  not  a  benevolent  institution  within  his  reach 
which  had  not  been  benefitted  by  his  ready  munificence. 
So  highly  was  he  esteemed,  that  in  more  than  one  of  these 
places  his  pqj trait  could  be  seen  in  the  most  conspicuous 
position— the  readily  recognized,  well-built,  middle-sized 
man;  the  brown  hair;  the  high  forehead;  the  blue  eye, 
in' which  there  was  nothing  stern ;  the  large,  well-shaped 
nose ;  the-  mouth,  almost  hidden  in  a  profusion  of  soft 
beard,  and  the  expression  of  the  handsome  face  pleasing 
and  benevolent.  The  portrait  was  not  only  respected  by 
high  caste  natives,  but  revered  by  many  an  humble  pariah. 

It  might  be  truly  said,  that  there  was  a  day  of  sorrow 
in  Bombay  when  John  Valiant  was  about  to  take  his  de- 
parture from  that  city.  Representatives  of  all  classes, 
Jlindoos,  Parsees,  Mohammedans,  Indo-Britons  and  oth- 
ers, the  great  and  the  humble,  flocked  to  the  spacious 
harbor  to  take  leave  of  one  who  had  worthily  gained  the 
name  of  being  a  public  benefactor.  Hundreds  x>f  the 
poorer  people,  whom  he  had  served  without  distinction, 
lined  the  shore,  and  soon  singled  out  the  vessel  in  which 


$S 


THE  HEATHENS  01*  *HE  HEATH. 


107 


jye, 


by 
lah. 
row 
ide- 
les, 
)th- 
loua 
Ithe 
Ithe 
[on, 
lich 


he  had  embarked.  They  watched  the 'anchors  as  they 
were  gradually  drawn  up,  and  the  monotonous  chorus  of 
the  sailors,  as  they  turned  the  capstan,  sounded  to  the 
listeners  on  shore  like  a  wail  on  the  waters.  As  the  huge 
ship  which  was  to  bear  away  the  common  friend  of  all, 
swung  slowly  from  her  moorings,  invocations  were  uttered 
by  men  of  different  creeds ;  and  beseeching  hands  were 
raised  to  Brahma,  to  Zoroaster,  to  Mahomec,  to  Christna, 
and  to  Christ,  that  the  beloved  wanderer  might  be  pro- 
tected on  the  distant  deep,  and  that  no  wild  storm  or 
disastrous  hurricane  might  cross  the  fathomless  leagues 
over  which  he  had  to  be  borne. 

While  a  thousand  eyes  were  gazing  in  one  direction,  the 
evening  shadows  seemed  to  steal  down  and  rest  upon  the 
fluttering  sails ;  the  fading  glory  of  the  sunset  appeared 
to  sink'  into  the  heaving  bosom  of  the  wide  sea ;  and  as 
the  vessel  moved  off  on  her  lonely  way,  cheer  after  cheer 
was  heard  from  shore  and  from  ship.  The  deep  boom 
of  a  farewell  gun  resounded  along  hill,  and  shore,  and 
bay;  and  though  sturdy  men,  who  had  cheered,  could 
have  wept,  Hindoo  mothers  who  could  not  cheer,  were 
weei)ing ;  and  little  dark-eyed  children  of  the  East,  who 
had  neither  wept  nor  cheered,  were  muttering  the  name 
of  John  Valiant,  even  in  their  mother's  arms.  Ere  night 
had  spread  its  gloom  upon  the  scene,  the  dim  uncovered 
form  of  one  man  could  be  seen  at  the  stern  of  the  sHip, 
waving  adieu,  as  it  were,  to  the  receding  shore ;  and  when 
darkness  had  at  last  closed  around  John  Valiant,  and  had 
hidden  him  from  the  view  of  all,  the  most  tender  feelings 
of  those  of  different  nations  and  tribes— the  genial  im- 
pulse of  our  common  humanity— were  touched  and  awak- 
ened in  many  a  heart,  and  many  then  wept  in  the  shades 
of  that  dismal  night,  as  if  bewailing  the  loss  of  a  true  and 
only  brother. 


* 


i. 


■I 

I 

111 


m 


CHAPTER    XII. 


TKE  MISSIONARY  AT  WORK. 


Jf  ^! 


.  t 

■  -J     IC. 

i;  .if 


TOHN  VALIANT  landed  in  Liverpool  on  his  fortieth 
^  birthday.  The  long  voyage  from  India  had  been  very 
serviceable,  and  his  health  was  much  improved.  Though 
still  depressed  in  spirit,  he  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  bear 
up  under  the  most  severe  trials — as  such  trials  were  the 
common  lot  of  all—and  to  be  actively  engaged  in  making 
his  life  useful  to  others.  Being  of  a  hopeful  disposition, 
he  yet  trusted  that  the  dark  cloud  which  seemed  to  hang 
over  his  future  would  be  removed,  and  that  sunlight  and 
brighter  skies  would  cheer  his  after  years.  The  agony  of 
mind  which  he  endured  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  his 
son,  did  not,  however,  lead  him  to  despair  of  ever  seeing 
him  again;  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  the  bleak  period 
which  might  elapse  before  that  son  would  be  restored 
that  made  the  present  time  so  dreary. 

After  an  absence  of  nearly  twenty  years  he  was  again 
in  his  native  land.  His  native  land?  How  unmeaning 
was  the  flippant  phrase !  The  land  was  now  to  him  as  a 
foreign  shore— a  land  of  strangers.  Whom  did  he  know 
among  the  thousands  that  he  met  every  day  in  his  wan- 
derings ?  He  might  have  felt  less  loneliness  in  a  desert ; 
not  a  familiar  face  to  be  seen  among  those  he  called  his 
countrymen.  He  could  not  say  that  he  had  a  relative  in 
all  England,  unless  his  son  might  happily  be  living  in  the 
land.  If  he  had  ever  heard  of  one  from  his  parents,  the 
long  years  which  had  passed  since  their  death,  and  the 


THE  tfEATHEKS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


109 


g 

id 
Id 

In 


le 
le 


many  strange  events  of  his  own  life,  had  left  his  memory 
a  complete  blank  as  to  any  information  he  had  ever 
received  relating  to  family  connections,  except  what  he 
happened  to  know  of  the  general  family  history.  Neither 
had  he  any  letters  or  documents  from  which  he  could 
glean  the  least  information  in  that  respect ;  for  such  as 
his  father  had  left  had  been  destroyed  with  many  other 
records  during  the  great  mutiny  in  India.  He  had,  how- 
ever, several  letters  of  introduction,  he  had  ample  re- 
sources, and  he  had  determined  that  after  a  few  days'  rest 
in  London,  he  would  re-commence  his  search  for  his  son, 
and  ascertain  all  he  could  as  to  the  chance  of  ever  becom- 
ing possessed  of  the  old  family  estate  near  Pendell. 

First,  then,  in  order  to  find  out  who  or  where  the  mis- 
sionary was  that  was  supposed  fo  have  taken  a  foreign 
child  to  England,  he  had  made  many  enquiries,  and  was 
advised  to  call  at  some  of  the  principal  Mission  Houses  of 
London.  He  could  not  tell  the  exact  time  that  the  mis- 
sionary had  left  Bombay,  nor  to  what  port  in  England  he 
had  been  destined,  but  after  having  visited  two  or  three 
of  these  different  religious  agencies,  he  ascertained  that  a 
Presbyterian  minister  had  landed  in  Liverpool  from  Bom- 
bay about  three  months  previous  to  the  time  of  his  own 
arrival,  and  that  the  minister  had  with  him,  besides  his 
wife  and  a  little  Parsee  girl,  a  Hindoo  lady  and  a  boy 
about  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  whom  she  claimed  to  be 
her  nephew ;  and  that  these  persons  had  been  baptized 
and  were  reputed  to  be  converts  to  Christianity.  This 
preacher,  he  was  informed,  had  left  England  and  was  then 
in  Belfast,  in  the  north  of  Ireland.  Mr.  Valiant  then  took 
the  name  and  address  of  the  minister,  with  the  intention 
of  going  to  Ireland  as  soon  as  circumstances  would 
permit. 

While  making  enquiries  at  the  dififerent  Mission  Houses, 
the  agents  finding  that  he  had  resided  so  long  in  India, 
and  had  such  a  knowledge  of  that  far  off  land  and  its  vari- 
ous inhabitants,  seldom  obtained  by  strangers,  asked 
several  questions  as  to  the  state  of  that  country,  the  con- 


f 


110 


tut  faEAi'ltENS  Oi'  f  HE  HEATri. 


'i  ^ , 


K 


I 

m 


dition  of  the  natives  socially  and  morally,  and  whether  in 
his  opinion  the  great  superstition  wliich  overshadowed 
the  minds  of  those  remarkable  people  was  soon  liljely  to 
give  way  to  the  illuminating  power  of  the  pure  gospel.  He 
replied  that  as  a  general  thing  the  people  of  India  were 
quite  indififerent  to  Christianity,  looking  upon  it  as  a  relig- 
ion far  inferior  to  their  own ;  that  every  nation  and  tribe 
in  that  vast  territory  seemed  to  be  devoted  to  its  own  form 
of  superstition;  and  that  among  Brahmins,  Buddhists, 
Mohammedans,  and  Parsees,  with  whom  hfe  had  long 
dwelt  in  India  and  in  other  countries,  and  who  comprise 
over  two-thirds  of  the  whole  human  race,  he  had  found  as 
much  integrity  and  kindness  of  heart  as  he  had  ever  found 
among  Christians.  His  answers  led  them  to  wonder  at 
the  extent  of  his  information ;  and  when  he  Informed  them 
that  there  were  thousands  of  poor  wretches  even  In  Lon- 
don who  were  much  more  ignorant,  destitute  and  depraved 
than  any  of  the  Hindoos  or  Buddhists  he  ever  met  in  his 
travels,  they  seemed  willing  to  admit  the  fact,  but  rejoined 
that  such  natives  of  the  East,  though  perhaps  actiially 
more  comfortable  as  to  worldly  circumstances,  were  yet 
more  destitute  than  the  poorest,  because  in  their  natural 
state  unbelievers  were  under  condemnation,  not  having 
ever  heard  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation ;  and  some  High 
Churchmen  had  gone  so  far  as  to  tell  him  that  those 
squalid  and  impoverished  natives  of  Britain  to  whom  he 
had  alluded,  were  really  better  off  than  Pagans  possibly 
could  be,  inasmuch  as  most  of  the  paupers  of  England  had 
had  at  least  the  benefit  of  Christian  baptism. 

During  his  conversation  with  the  missionary  agents,  he 
also  learned  that  there  were  not  only  missions  to  Turkey, 
to  India,  to  China,  to  Japan,  to  the  Pacific  islands,  and  to 
frozen  regions  in  the  north— missions  to  the  heathen,  but 
actually  missions  also  to  Christian  nations.  Protestants 
had  sent  missionaries  to  convert  Roman  Catholics,  and 
Catholics  had  sent  missionaries  to  convert  Protestants. 
Besides  this  he  well  knew  that  ther©  were  what  might  be 
called  minor,  or  sectarian  missions.    These  are  to  some 


*flE  HEATHENS   OS*  tHE  HEaH H. 


ill 


■ 


extent  sustained  by  restless  preachers  who  are  ever  ready 
to  travel  about  and  engage  in  sharp  discussions  for  the 
purpose  of  gaining  adherents  to  their  particular  views. 
The  Christianity  of  Europe  is  torn  into  shreds  by  sects. 
In  England  the  Churchman  repudiates  the  Dissenter,  who 
is  solemnly  warned  to  return  to  the  fold,  out  of  which 
there  is  no  safety.  Then  the  Dissenters,  while  declaiming 
against  Church  pretensions,  dispute  among  themselves. 
The  Presbyterian  denounces  the  Methodist,  the  Methodist 
the  Baptist,  and  the  Baptist  takes  a  high  stand  against  all 
others.  Indeed  he  actually  found  more  hostility  towards 
one  another  among  Protestant  sects  in  England,  than  he 
had  ever  found  among  heathen  sects  in  India ;  and  he  also 
had  reason  to  fancy  that  many  Protestant  fanatics  would 
prefer  to  proseletize.a  hostile  sectarian  than  they  would  to 
convert  a  foreign  unbeliever  to  Christianity.  On  the  whole 
he  was  satisfied  that  the  money  annually  spent  in  the 
mission  service — the  large  sum  required  to  send  out  mis- 
sionaries and  their  families,  to  pay  agents,  clerks,  printers, 
and  others  connected  with  such  establishments— was  in 
the  aggregate  an  amount  sufficient  to  endow  a  vast  char- 
itable institution ;  and  that  the  results  so  far,  for  all  this 
outlay,  particularly  in  India,  were  but  very  meagre.  Mis- 
sionaries had  from  time  to  time  complained  of  their  want 
of  success,  and  had  perhaps  attributed  their  slow  progress 
to  any  thing  but  the  proper  cause ;  and  he  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  if  the  large  expenditure,  which  he  considered 
only  wasted  in  India,  were  but  properly  expended  at 
home,  for  the  benefit  of  the  British  paupers,  there  would 
be  fewer  harrowing  events  to  be  recorded  of  the  ignorance, 
distress,  and  social  misery  prevailing  in  Great  Britain, 
that  reputed  land  of  piety  and  wealth.* 

During  his  stay  in  London,  John  "Valiant  being  desirous 
of  obtaining  information  about  Pendell  and  its  neighbor- 
hood, was  recommended  to  call  on  the  Kev.  George  Mor- 
ton, rector  of  Pendell,  who  at  that  time  was  living  in  his 


•  See  Note  i. 


T 


iia 


HVLU,  aeATHfiKS  Of*  1!H£  fiEiAfB. 


I 


1  'K 


city  residence.  He  found  the  rector's  dwelling  to  be  one 
of  the  most  stylish,  and  located  in  a  quarter  noted  for  its 
aristocratic  pretensions ;  and  the  rector  himself,  as  a  hum- 
ble servant  of  the  Church,  seemed  to  be  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  greatest  abundance  of  worldly  comforts.  No  doubt, 
the  Reverend  Eector,  like  others  of  his  class,  cheerfully 
performed  much  religious  drudgery  among  the  poorest  of 
his  people  in  more  than  one  parish,  and  in  his  ample  dis- 
tribution of  spiritual  food  to  others,  his  own  ghostly  pab- 
ulum might  at  times  have  become  a  little  deficient,  and 
his  pious  hopes  rather  saddened,  particularly  when  he 
mourned  over  the  grievous  secular  destitution  existing 
among  those  very  people  to  whom  he  had  ministered. 
Next  to  fervent  prayer,  the  Rector  might  have  therefore 
found  the  comfort  and  relaxation  of  a  dip  into  fashionable 
life— by  way  of  contrast— just  the  very  thing  to  stimulate 
him  to  further  exertions  among  the  poor  of  the  Lord,  as 
well  as  among  sinners  in  the  sanctuary. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  from  Mr.  Morton  the  informa- 
tion he  required,  the  Reverend  gentleman  gave  him  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  his  Curate  at  Pendell ;  and  in  a 
few  days  afterward  he  presented  himself  at  the  rural  par- 
sonage.   He  found  the  Rev.  Mr.  Meade  the  very  person  ho 
wished  io  iiiid— like  a  father,  like  an  old  friend— altogether 
most  courteous  and  agreeable.    He  was  delighted  with 
the  scenery  of  the  valley,  and  had  a  dream-like  recollec- 
tion of  the  place ;  for  his  father,  previous  to  his  departure 
for  India,  had  taken  him  on  a  holiday  visit  to  see  the 
ancient  Manor  House,  on  the  old  estate.    What  a  differ- 
ence he  found  between  the  modest  parsonage  of  the  poor 
curate— the  man  who  worked — and  the  stylish  city  resi- 
dence of  the  wealthy  rector,  who  perhaps  only  prayed ! 
Yet  there  was  something  so  quietly  beautiful  in  the  sur- 
roundings of  the  unpretending  house  of  Mr.  Meade,  with 
its  white  walls,  its  patch  of  dark  green  ivy,  its  quaint 
windows,  with  small  diamond-shaped  panes,  its  shading 
vines,  and  its  climbing,  clustering  roses  round  the  door 
way,  and  then  there  was  the  pleasant  lawn,  dotted  with 


tun  fiEATttENS  OF  THE  HEATH; 


113 


trees,  isloping  down  to  meet  the  boulders,  the  gravel,  the 
shells,  and  the  ripples  on  the  beach,  that  he  would  have 
readily  chosen  it  as  a  model  for  his  own  dwelling-place. 

As  Miss  Meade  was  absent  from  home— she  had  at  last 
been  i)revailed  on  to  visit  the  Rector's  wife— and  as  Mr. 
Meade  could  not,  on  that  account,  well  offer  his  hospital- 
ity, he  accepted  Mr.  Valiant's  invitation  to  dinner  at  the 
inn.  While  there,  Mr.  Meade  gave  his  new  friend  a  long 
account  of  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  at  Pendell ; 
he  told  him  about  the  poor  of  the  parish,  the  low  condi- 
tion of  the  wild  people  of  the  Heath,  and  gave  him  some 
important  information  as  to  the  legal  position  of  the 
old  family  estate,  which  he  told  him  had  been  advertised 
for  some  time,  by  a  final  order  in  Chancery,  and  was  to  be 
sold  in  less  than  a  week.  This  was  indeed  information  of 
the  most  important  kind  to  him ;  and,  as  there  was  little 
time  for  delay,  John  Valiant  started  that  evening  for  Lon- 
don. The  sale  took  place  as  was  advertised,  the  land  was 
sold  at  a  low  price,  and  he  went  back  to  Pendell  within 
five  days  from  that  time  the  purchaser  and  sole  proprietor 
of  over  a  thousand  acres  of  the  Manor,  called  Mayston. 

Upon  his  return  from  the  city,  he  soon  became  ac- 
quainted with  nearly  all  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pendell ; 
he  knew  many  also  in  the  adjoining  parish  of  Betnall. 
There  was  nothing  like  pretension  in  his  manner,  and 
many  wondered  that  a  person  like  him,  the  wealthy  owner 
of  a  large  property,  could  be  so  easily  approached,  and  so 
famtliar  with  poor  working  men,  and  even  with  children. 
He  had  already  placed  in  the  Curate's  hands  an  ample 
sum  to  distribute  among  the  deserving  poor.  He  went  to* 
visit  old  Sarah  Afton,  and  spent  an  hour  in  her  cottage ; 
and  Sarah,  as  well  as  others.  Was  loud  in  his  praise.  He 
sought  out  old  Stephen  Gray,  and  went  with  him  to  the 
cemetery-— as  Bob  Cuffer  had  stated— to  find  an  old  family 
tomb.  Next  to  Mr.  Meade,  he  made  a  companion  of  old 
Stephen,  he  was  fond  of  listening  to  his  simple  recitals ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  decided  to  visit  the  people  of  the 
Heath,  he  took  him  along  as  his  only  protector,  rightly 


I 


114 


tnt  BEAltKEKS  OV  T»G  tlKAtU. 


W 


judging,  that  with  such  a  person,  he  could  win  more  con- 
fidence than  he  should  were  he  accompanied  by  a  score  of 
constables,  or  surrounded  by  a  company  ol!  grenadiers. 

When  the  wounded  men  liad  left  the  ring,  and  when 
the  excitement  attendant  on  the  occasion  had  in  some 
measure  subsided,  John  Valiant  stood  quietly  among  the 
people— the  central  object— as  if  scanning  the  faces  of 
those  around  him.  Not  a  word  was  spoken,  and  as  his 
eyes  wandered  from  one  to  another,  he  appeared  to  be  in 
deep  thought,  as  if  anxious  to  read  their  very  hearts.  The 
calm,  resolute  bearing  of  the  stranger  seemed  to  win  not 
only  admiration,  but  something  also  akin  to  submission. 
The  crowd  gradually  increased.  One  by  one  came  to  look 
at  the  man  who  had,  perhaps,  just  saved  a  life— saved  a 
man  from  being  publicly  slaughtered — and  who  had  bound 
up  the  bruises  and  wounds  of  the  unfortunate  wretches ; 
the  man  who,  besides  this,  had  the  daring  to  utter  a 
reproof  to  all.  Yet  nearly  all  who  had  heard  that  reproof, 
had  now  a  kind  of  vague  idea  that  it  was  deserved ;  and 
they  felt  that  in  the  words  which  had  been  uttered,  there 
was  not  one  of  anger.  On  the  people  came,  young  and 
old,  from  different  parts  of  the  Heath ;  even  many  of  the 
Gypsies,  impelled  by  a  natural  curiosity,  hurried  from 
their  distant  camps,  and  stood  around  the  ring.  In  a 
short  time,  John  Valiant  moved  toward  the  caiiiage,  the 
iieople  made  way  for  him,  and  when  he  entered  the  vehi- 
cle, he  stood  alongside  old  Stephen,  and  appeared  in 
full  view  before  them  all.  The  carriage  was  now  quickly 
surrounded,  eager  faces  were  turned  upward,  and  every 
*one  present  seemed  to  expect  that  the  stranger  would  say 
something  before  his  departure.  While  all  were  thus 
waiting,  his  clear  voice  was  now  heard  uttering  this  kind 
address : 

"My  friends,  you  have,  no  doubt,  been  surprised  at  my 
visit.  I  have  but  lately  come  from  a  far  country,  and, 
though  a  stranger,  I  was  anxious  to  be  among  you,  and  to 
learn  for  myself,  whether  the  reports  which  I  have  heard 
about  you  were  correct,  and  whether  the  people  of  this 


h 


— ^, 


THE  HEATHEIJS  Of  THtt  HEATtf. 


115 


wide  plain,  are  as  wild,  as  wicked,  and  as  ferocious  as  has 
been  represented.  I  was  cautioned  not  to  come  her  be- 
cause it  was  said  that  as  you  cared  but  little  for  human 
life,  that  as  you  could  not  bo  grateful  for  kindness,  my 
own  life  was  in  danger.  But  you  see  I  came  to  this  place 
without  fear,  this  old  man  being  my  only  protector.  I 
came  to  find  your  condition  most  doi)lorable,  and  to  find 
that  you  have  not  only  been  badly  treated  by  your  fellow- 
men,  but  urged  on  to  infamy.  I  came,  and  have  witnessed 
your  poverty,  your  wickedness,  and  your  barbarous  pas- 
time; and,  after  all,  though  I  have  given  you  a  plain 
reproof,  yet  you  have  not  so  far  injured  me ;  and  I  am  now 
satisfied  that,  bad  as  you  have  been  represented,  that  bad 
as  you  really  are,  your  hearts  still  contain  germs  of  good- 
ness ;  that  you  can  be  grateful  to  those  who  are  kind  to 
you ;  and  that  you  can  be  raised  from  your  present  low 
state,  to  become  in  time  as  honest,  as  diligent,  and  as 
much  respected  as  others." 

Here  the  feelings  of  the  people  being  evidently  touch- 
ed, as  if  the  first  blessed  ray  of  hope  had  just  dawned 
on  their  minds.  All  present  gave  a  long,  loud  cheer,  and 
he  then  continued : 

"  Now,  my  friends,  as  I  pity  you  all,  my  object  from  this 
day  forward,  if  you  are  willing  to  help  me,  will  be  to  try 
and  improve  your  condition.  I  stand  here  as  the  owner 
of  this  land ;  I  am  the  sole  owner  of  this  old  estate ;  I  own 
the  Manor  House,  and  the  entire  Manor  of  Mayston. 
This  land  once  belonged  to  my  forefathers;  it  has  now 
come  into  my  possession,  and  as  it  is  more  than  I  ever 
want  to  use,  I  wish  to  make  it  serviceable  to  others.  I  do 
not  want  to  drive  you  away  frym  this  Heath ;  I  want  you 
to  remain.  I  want  to  keep  you  all  with  me,  if  you  are 
willing  to  stay.  I  desire  to  see  this  wild,  barren  plain 
improved,  and  made  green  and  inviting.  I  wish  to  secure 
to  each  of  you  who  is  willing  to  cultivate  it,  a  piece  of 
land ;  I  want  to  see  each  of  you  have  his  own  cottage,  and 
his  own  pleasant  garden ;  I  want  to  have  a  schoolhouse 
'erected,  and  to  find  your  children— and  even  yourselves— 


i 


IIG 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  IHE  HEATH. 


it 


lii  ;•#■ 


'P 
I 


,1 1. 


'i  ;■ 


learn  useful  knowledge ;  and  I  wunt  to  see  you  all  load 
I>oaoeabIo,  sober,  industrious  livos,  I  have  had  my  own 
afflictions ;  it  will  lighten  them  to  be  engaged  with  you  in 
this  approach  to  civilization.  Will  you,  then,  friends, 
help  me  to  bring  about  this  change  ?  "  Cries  of  '*  we  will, 
we  will!"  "I  want  to  improve  the  whole  estate;  you 
shall  have  an  interest  in  that  improvement,  and  every  day 
you  truly  serve,  shall  bring  its  true  reward ;  and  lastly,  I 
want  to  see  you  and  your  children  go  out  into  the  parishes, 
and  to  any  other  place  in  the  whole  kingdom,  without 
being  watched,  without  being  dreaded,  and  without  being 
despised.  Now,  my  friends,  I  ask  once  more,  shall  wo 
work  together  for  this  great  end  ?  "  Cries  of,  "  Yes,  yes, 
yes!"  "  Well,  then,  be  it  so.  I,  John  Valiant,  am  willing 
to  take  you  all  on  trust ;  remember  that,  and  remember 
the  name.  I  must  now  leave  here  to  visit  the  old  man- 
sion, which  I  have  not  seen  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  shall 
soon  return  to  begin  the  g:od  work." 

The  rough  set,  unaccustomed  to  pity  or  kindness  from 
a  stranger,  now  saw  both  pity  and  kindness  in  the  strang- 
er's eye,  and  wonderful  to  tell,  many  of  the  women- 
women  who  are  ever  the  first  capable  of  detecting  those 
blessed  impulses  of  the  swelling  heart— saw  those  genuine 
rays  of  pity  shining  on  the  stranger's  face,  and  soon  those 
very  rays  were  reflected  in  the  unbidden  tears  whic*^  fill- 
ed their  eyes.  Other  women  present,  burying  their  faces 
in  their  aprons,  sat  and  sobbed  like  little  children ;  even 
the  stalwart  heroine  who  would  have  struck  down  this 
benefactor,  now  hung  her  head  in  his  presence  like  one 
condemned.  Men  stood  here  and  there  as  if  overcome  by 
a  singular  influence.  Some  quite  listless,  others  with 
trembling  nerves  and  clenched  hands— hands  not  clench- 
ed in  anger,  but  as  if  trying  to  resist  some  mysterious 
power  which  was  about  to  assert  itself  in  unmanning 
them,  and  casting  the  very  evil  out  of  their  natures. 

Before  he  went  away,  John  Valiant  walked  about  the 
place  to  see  how  the  people  worked  and  lived.  He  went 
into  two  or  three  of  the  meanest  huts ;  he  entered  the ' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


117 


36 
l- 

9 

n 
i3 
e 

)y 

h 


shed,  and  ho  was  shocked  to  seo  the  condition  of  tho  poor 
ovorworkod  children,  and  ho  would  not  leave  tho  place 
until  he  had  obtained  a  promise  that  tho  sickly  children 
should  be  carefully  attended,  and  that  none  of  the  others 
should  be  asked  to  work  until  his  return  to  the  Heath. 
Ho  distributed  small  sums  among  all  those  who  appeared 
to  be  in  need.  Every  woman  received  somethlnj:?,  and 
every  child  had  a  little  gift.  To  Harry  Tamblin  lie  gave 
an  amount  sufficient  to  procure  decent  interment  for  tho 
dead  girl,  and  necessaries  for  the  wounded  men.  Just  as 
ho  was  about  to  drive  away,  weeping  women  caught  his 
hands  and  kissed  them  ;  and  the  eyes  of  many  hardened 
mer  seemed  to  be  moistened  for  the  hrst  time ;  and  then 
as  I  e  carriage  moved  off  a  loud  cheer  was  heard  all  over 
the  plain. 

For  a  few  moments  the  people  stood  and  looked  wist- 
fully after  the  vehicle,  but  before  it  was  a  hundred  yards 
in  advance,  most  of  those  present,  as  if  by  an  involuntary 
movement,  rushed  after  the  carriage  and  followed  like  the 
escort  of  some  distinguished  personage. 

After  they  had  got  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Heath,  many 
of  those  who  resided  in  the  parishes  wondered  to  see  such 
a  procession ;  and  many  even  dreaded  a  wholesale  plun- 
dering incursion  of  their  lawless  neighbors.  It  was,  how- 
ever, soon  evident  that  nothing  of  the  kind  was  intended ; 
there  was  not  the  slightest  approach  to  anything  disor- 
derly; those  whom  they  had  feared  went  along  in  a  quiet 
and  submissive  manner,  and  whether  the  carriage  went 
slowly,  or  at  a  brisk  rate,  all  kept  together.  As  they 
emerged  from  a  long  avenue  of  huge  oaks,  the  ancient 
Manor  House,  situated  on  an  eminence,  burst  into  full 
view.  There  the  procession  halted  for  a  few  moments  to 
gaze  on  the  scene.  A  slight  shower  had  fallen  a  short  time 
previously,  and  now  a  rainbow  arched  the  eastern  sky, 
leaving  the  Manor  House  and  its  surroundings  a  central 
picture  in  the  iridescent  frame,  while  slanting  sunbeams 
shone  through  the  vacant  apertures  which  once  held  win- 
dows, and  a  thousand  rays  of  the  evening  sun  sparkled  in 


1^1 


118 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


I; 


IV- 


the  rain  drops  which  stood  like  gems  on  the  dark  ivy  that 
draped  the  mouldering  walls. 

At  this  moment  a  number  of  gypsies  who  were  ranged 
on  each  side  of  the  passage  leading  to  the  great  entrance 
of  the  building  sung  out  aloud : 

Oh  welcome  h&dk  to  the  ancient  Hall  1 
The  chief  returns  to  its  ivied  wall. 
Sure  sifirn  that  the  Manor  now  shall  be 
A  place  for  the  noble  and  the  free. 
The  home  of  the  Valiant  family ; 
Birds  sing  aloud,  flowers  ever  romain. 
For  the  heir  of  Mayston  comes  again. 

John  Valiant  left  the  carriage  and  approached  the 
building  alone.  He  stood  uncovered  on  the  threshold  of 
the  doorless  entrance.  Tears  filled  his  eyes  as  he  thought 
of  the  past,  and  he  was  almost  overcome  by  his  emotions. 
Ere  he  moved  from  the  spot,  those  behind  him  were  start- 
led by  what  appeared  to  be  an  apparition.  The  old  gypsy 
woman,  Zingari,  wearing  a  red  cloak,  and  holding  a  kind 
of  wand,  stepped  slowly  out  from  an  interior  recess,  and 
stood  before  him.  A  little  gypsy  boy  that  she  held  by  the 
hand,  had  a  chaplet  of  oak  leaves  which  she  took  from 
him.  She  muttered  an  invocation  in  a  foreign  tongue, 
which  John  Valiant  appeared  to  understand,  and  then  as 
he  bent  his  head,  she  placed  the  chaplet  upon  it ;  and 
thus  arrayed,  at  the  sunset  hour,  the  heir  of  Mayston 
entered  the  home  of  his  ancestors. 


' 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


APOSTOLIC  SUCCESSORS. 


rpHE  Reverend  Mr.  Rockett,  rector  of  Betnall,  unlike 
-*-  his  spiritual  brother,  Morton,  of  the  adjoining  parish 
of  Pendell,  did  not  care  for  city  life,  but  chose  to  reside 
in  one  of  his  country  parishes  where  he  could  enjoy  things 
in  his  own  way.  Being  a  fortunate  man  as  well  as  a  good 
churchman,  he  not  only  had  the  spiritual  income  of  three 
other  livings— places  which  he  scarcely  ever  visited — but 
he  ^vas  successful  in  securing  curates  to  suit  his  own  views, 
men  who  were  willing  to  pray  at  a  cheap  rate,  and  to 
preach  against  dissent.  Parson  Rockett,  though  not 
troubled  with  profound  ideas  on  theology  or  politics,  or  in 
fact  on  any  other  subject,  had  one  particular  idea,  which 
though  not  original  he  himself  considered  important,  and 
worthy  of  grave  consideration,  and  this  was,  that  what- 
ever national  misfortune  had  occurred  in  England  since 
the  Reformation  must  all  be  imputed  to  the  spirit  of  dis- 
sent; no  matter  whether  such  misfortune  came  in  the 
shape  of  war  or  riots,  short  crops  or  scarlet  fever.  The 
National  Church  he  looked  upon  as  worthy  of  the  greatest 
reverence,  as  capable  pf  being  the  salvation  practically  as 
well  as  spiritually  of  the  entire  kingdom ;  and  he  often 
wondered  how  it  was  possible  for  peasant,  prince  or 
potentate,  to  overlook  its  perfection,  or  to  deny  its  para- 
mount claims.  The  Pope  he  rather  pitied,  as  being  some- 
what spiritually  deluded;  but  thi  whole  vile  tribe  of 
dissenters  he  held  in  the  most  u^te^  contempt ;  and  h^ 


I 


III '  'il 


120 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


tU 


would  frequently  assert  there  was  not  a  prison,  workhouse, 
or  madhouse,  in  all  England,  but  what  should  be  filled 
with  the  stupid,  ignorant  drivellers  of  hypocritical  Metho- 
dists, sour-visaged  Presbyterians,  and  sloppy  Baptists. 
The  ragged,  ranting,  reverend  itinerants  of  these  and 
other  sects,  he  would  expose  to  labor  on  the  public  high- 
ways ;  he  would  subject  them  to  the  most  degrading  serv- 
itude, or  he  would  transport  the  whole  contemptible  crew 
during  life  to  some  distant  penal  colony.  He  once  tried 
to  argue  with  a  Methodist  clown,  but  having  failed  to  con- 
vince, he  took  off  his  coat  and  fought  with  the  "Swaddler" 
outside  the  church  door  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  presence  of 
some  of  his  own  congregation.*  Statesmen  like  Gladstone 
or  Bright  who  had  dared  to  advise  the  dis-establishment 
of  the  Church,  or  who  had  ventured  to  tamper  in  the  least 
degree  with  its  temporalities,  he  would  hang  at  once  to 
the  highest  tree ;  and  were  he  to  have  his  own  way,  no 
man  in  Great  Britain  or  Ireland,  should  enter  a  univers- 
ity, or  be  a  legislator,  lawyer,  physician  or  teacher;  or 
hold  any  office  high  or  low  unless  he  was  willing  to  sub- 
scribe to  the  Thirty-nine  Ai'ticles,  and  to  solemnly  swear 
that  the  same  were  the  very  essence  of  truth.  Subscribe 
to  these  same  articles,  and  no  matter  what  little  peccadil- 
loes one  might  commit,  no  matter  what  natural  frailties 
men  or  monarchs— monarchs  were  always  more  than  men 
in  his  estimation — were  subject  to  these  thirty-nine  church 
plasters  applied  according  to  rule,  would  heal  every  moral 
defect ;  these  thirty-nine  steps  in  the  theological  ladder 
would  enable  him  who  climbed  on  them  to  reach  the  very 
confines  of  Paradise. 

There  is  no  record  among  the  latest  accepted  scriptural 
revisions  to  prove  that  St.  Paul  ever  kept  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  himself,  or  for  any  of  his*  friends,  either  game 
cocks,  'ox  hounds,  or  race  horses,  or  that  he  ever  drank 
costly  wines,  or  generally  lived  "  fast."  It  is  however  to 
be  inferred  from  what  he  is  said  to  have  written,  that  at 
one  time  he  took  pleasure  in  fighting  with  beasts  at  Ephe- 


*  See  Note  A. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


121 


ll 


BUS ;  and  he  admits  that  he  had  derived  a  kind  of  grim 
enjoyment  while  going  about  making  havoc  of  the  church, 
entering  into  every  house,  harrassing  and  hunting  certain 
obstinate  men  and  women  who  had  presumed  to  differ 
from  him  on  some  religious  matters ;  and  so  anxious  was 
he  that  all  should  think  just  as  he  thought  on  such  sub- 
jects, that  he  stood  by  and  permitted  a  man  named 
Stephen,  who  had  held  heterodox  opinions,  to  be  stoned 
to  death,  rather  than  allow  unlicensed  free  thought  to 
contaminate  the  simple  faith  of  others.  But  it  is  believed 
that  after  Paul  had  entered  the  ministry,  he  put  away 
these  childish  ideas,  and  grew  more  moderate ;  and  though 
he  still  thought  that  his  own  opinions  were  those  that 
ought  to  prevail— for  he  was  a  true  priest  in  this  respect- 
he  ceased  to  be  an  open  active  persecutor,  and  attended 
more  particularly  to  the  production  of  explanatory  letters 
or  epistles,  which  he  must  have  thought  greatly  needed,  as 
very  few  of  the  wealthy  and  respectable  pew  holders  of 
his  time  were  capable  of  understanding  the  complex  doc- 
trines of  the  new  faith,  until  his  inspired  sentiments  were 
added  to  what  had  already  been  written.  Upon  reflection 
many  now  consider — even  many  of  the  elect — that  if  Paul 
had  a  failing,  were  it  possible  for  him  to  have  had  one,  it 
was  that  after  he  had  become  an  apostle,  much  of  his  old 
persecuting  spirit  had  remained,  much  of  the  Mosaic  ani- 
mus which  had  governed  his  utterances  in  the  synagogue 
governed  his  announcements  in  the  church.  He  had  been 
intolerant  as  a  Jew ;  can  it  be  said  that  he  was  not  so  as  a 
Christian  ?  Some  have  also  thought  that  St.  Paul  is  the 
reputed  author  of  more  than  half  of  the  present  reduced 
number  of  books  comprising  the  New  Testament,  he  had 
another  failing— that  of  being  considered  a  chief  scribe. 
Any  way,  whether  he  can  be  justly  charged  with  these 
defects  or  not,  it  is  remarkable  that,  since  his  time,  the 
most  learned  priests  and  prelates  of  the  Church  have 
exhibited  in  their  own  lives  these  two  particular  idiosyn- 
crasies, intolerance  in  disposition,  and  an  itch  for  writing, 
as  if  it  were  actually  necessary  to  have  Paul's  failings. 


122 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


m 


as  well  as  Paul's  virtues,  in  order  to  prove  beyond  all 
manner  of  doubt  the  genuineness  of  that  apostolic  suc- 
cession upon  which  they  base  their  clerical  authority  and 
assumption. 

The  arrogance  of  the  priests  of  almost  every  form  of 
religion  seems  to  be  inherent;  and  the  terrible  facts  of 
history  can  alone  tell  of  their  persecuting  spirit.  That 
spirit,  it  must  be  admitted,  has  actuated  in  turn  every 
Christian  sect,  great  or  insignificant.  The  most  enlight- 
enened  heathens  and  unbelievers  charge  Christianity 
with  being  essentially  intolerant;  and  they  assert  that 
every  persecutor  for  opinion's  sake,  from  the  early  days 
of  the  Church,  to  the  present  time,  claims  as  his  author- 
ity for  that  most  damning  of  all  sins,  the  very  words  of 
Paul  himself :  "  But  though  we,  or  an  angel  from  heaven, 
preach  any  other  gospel  unto  you  than  that  which  we  have 
preached,  let  him  be  accursed.'*  And  then  they  point  out 
how  Paul  is  fully  sustained  by  John,  who  wrote;  "If 
there  come  any  unto  you,  and  bring  not  this  doctrine, 
receive  him  not  into -your  house,  neither  bid  him  God 
speed.  For  he  that  biddeth  him  God  speed,  is  a  partaker 
of  his  evil  deeds."  With  regard  to  these  threats  from 
Paul  and  John,  and  to  another  text,  which  says:  "He 
that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned,"  the  enemies  of 
Christianity  boldy  assert,  that  nowhere  in  the  Vedas  of 
India— the  most  ancient  of  all  sacred  books— nowhere  in 
the  theological  literature  of  heathen  nations;  nowhere 
among  the  doctrines  of  ancient  pagan  philosophers,  can 
sentiments  so  utterly  bigoted  and  adverse  to  freedom  of 
thought  be  found ;  and  these  opponents  also  assert  that 
the  aphorism,  *' believe  or  be  damned,"  can  apply  alone 
to  the  claims  assumed  for  the  faith  of  the  great  Apostle. 

Not  satisfied  with  the  Scriptures  themselves,  ordained 
teachers  seem  to  think  it  their  duty  to  follow  the  example 
of  Paul,  and  become  scribes.  If  sectarian  priests  cannot 
manage  to  change  the  actual  words  of  what  has  already 
been  written,  they  endeavor  to  distort  the  meaning,  to 
Buit  their  own  narrow  views ;  and  to  this  intent  commen- 


*ii 


•^.  .  X.. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


123 


tary  after  commentary  is  published.  Tlie  number  of  ex- 
pository volumes  that  have  been  showered  on  bewildered 
believers  since  the  days  of  the  Apostles,  is  overwhelming; 
and  contending  scribes  are  still  at  work,  their  excited 
efforts  too  often  producing  wild  confusion,  or  the  open 
hostility  of  an  intelligent  class  to  all  Scriptural  inspira- 
tion. 

The  Sector  of  Betnall,  though  rather  intolerant  in  dis- 
position, had  not,  however,  the  other  apostolic  voucher- 
he  was  not  a  scribe.  He  had  never  written  a  commen- 
tary, nor  had  he  even  attempted  the  most  feeble  annota- 
tion on  a  disputed  passage.  He  had  often  told  friends, 
who  had  complained  of  his  slackness,  that  he  did  not 
think  he  had  ever  written  over  a  score  of  letters  in  all  his 
life ;  and  no  one  would,  therefore,  imagine  that  he  could 
spend  a  week,  or  even  a  day,  in  the  composition  of  a 
sermon,  when  he  could  order  and  obtain  a  ready  supply  of 
the  orthodox  stamp  to  his  taste,  for  less  than  half  a  crown 
apiece,  or  about  a  guinea  for  a  baker's  dozen— even  some- 
times for  half  that  price.  No,  indeed,  Parson  Rockett 
never  bothered  himself  with  divinity  to  that  extent ;  ho 
considered  that  he  did  well  if  he  read,  perhaps,  once  a 
month,  a  vapid  eulogy  of  the  Church  to  the  few  that 
might  be  in  attendance ;  and  as  long  as  his  curates  saw  to 
the  collection  of  church  rates,  and  succeeded  in  prevent- 
ing any  of  the  flock  from  wandering  toward  dissent,  the 
good  man's  conscience  was  easy,  and  he  spent  the  other 
Sundays  in  innocent  recreation  with  a  few  of  his  particu- 
lar friends. 

It  will,  no  doubt,  be  admitted  that  some  ministers, 
though  fortunate  in  having  a  sacred  call,  may  neverthe- 
less become  frivolous  and  degenerate,  and  after  all,  sub- 
ject to  particular  human  frailties.  It  has  been  said,  and 
perhaps  with  some  degree  of  truth,  that  filthy  lucre,  or  a 
love  of  money,  has  even  exceeded  the  sensuality  which 
has  been  charged  against  the  clergy.  Popes,  Cardinals, 
Bishops  and  Priests,  distinguished  clerical  rulers  of  all 
sects,  in  times  past,  as  well  as  at  present,  have  not  only 


|4,i 


124 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


been  eager  for  power  and  authority,  but  greedy  for  the 
means  of  obtai-ning  it ;  and  the  wealth  secured— often  by 
reprehensible  devices— for  churches,  religious  societies, 
and  pious  corporations,  is  in  startling  contrast  with  the 
stinted  funds  available  for  the  support  of  schools,  asy- 
lums, hospitals  and  other  charitable  institutions.  Dissent 
now  stalks  abroad  in  fashionable  costume.  Even  the  once 
world  despising  Methodist  has  flung  aside  his  low-crowned 
hat,  and  his  high-collared  coat  to  dress  a  la  mode.  This 
once  wild  piety  is  now  curbed  under  the  shadow  of  a 
steeple,  and  its  preacher— now  a  Eev.  Doctor— shouts  no 
frantic  prayer,  but  utters  his  classic  invocation  in  a  *'  met- 
ropolitan church." 

Parson  Rockett,  a  tall,  stout,  well-fed  looking  person, 
being  a  rector,  was  of  course  wealthy ;  and  like  a  sensible 
divine,  he  was  determined  to  enjoy  his  hard-earned  money. 
Few,  indeed,  can  extract  more  sweets  from  human  life 
than  a  popular  priest.  The  rector  was  a  magistrate,  and 
exercised  his  authority  with  as  little  compunction  over  a 
Methodist  or  a  Baptist,  as  he  did  upon  a  poacher  or  a 
pauper.  He  had  a  large,  comfortable  house,  well,  if  not 
elegantly  furnished.  His  cellar  was  stored  with  the  choic- 
est wines,  and  the  strongest  liquors,  which  his  temperance 
principles  did  not  altogether  forbid  him  touching.  He  did 
not  believe  in  temperance  bosh.  Did  not  Paul  say  to 
Timothy:  "Drink  no  longer  water,  but  drink  a  little 
wine."  *    He  had  servants  and  hand  maidens— to  some  of 


1 


'l! 


K    « 


:-S;  't 


*  The  tomporance  principles  of  one  of  the  Bishops  of  the  State 
Church  may  be  known  from  the  following  remarks  of  a  newspaper 
published  in  December,  1873: 

"  The  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  England,  has  actually  preached  a  sermon 
in  his  cathedral  against  the  temperance  pledge.  He  denounced  it  as 
unseriptural.  He  said  that  it  *  undermined  the  Godhead  of  Christ  '— 
which,  at  least,  is  rather  a  curious  figure.  'Then  suppose,'  said  the 
Bishop,  'that  Timothy  had  been  a  pledged  man  when  advised  by  St. 
Paul  to  ties  a  little  wine  for  his  stomach's  sake— would  ho  not  have 
injured  his  health  and  inflicted  a  damage  on  the  cause  of  truth  by 
refusing  to  follow  the  Apostolic  advice?"  Moreover,  aocording  to 
the  Bishop, the  pledge  '  leads  to  lying.'  and  '  it  is  a  deadly  sin  for 
Christians  to  sign  it.'  The  Bishop's  sermon,  naturally  enough,  was 
quoted  with  the  warmest  approbation  at  the  lioeased  viotnaler's  din- 
ner in  the  Crystal  Palace." 


1 


THE  flEAl'flENS  OV  THE  HEATS. 


125 


Ion 

las 


the  latter,  it  had  been  rumorecl,  he  was  much  attached  ; 
he  had  horses  and  hounds  which  had  been  trained  to  take 
a  short  cut  after  a  fox  across  the  fleldfe  or  through  the 
crops  of  a  dissenter,  in  preference  to  a  dash  through  those 
of  a  sound  Churchman ;  he  had  pigeons  and  poultry  which 
he  fattened  experimentally;  capons  and  cauliflowers, 
which  he  devoured  rather  voraciously ;  and  when  he  felt 
wearied  in  the  study  of  whist  or  of  Whateley,  he  found 
ready  recuperation  in  a  cock  fight.  This  was,  perhaps, 
one  of  his  greatest  enjoyments,  and  what  he  called  **  glori- 
ous fun ;"  and  there  was  not  a  rector  within  fifty  miles  who 
could  exhibit  more  magnificent  game  cocks,  or  bet  with 
more  successful  results  upon  his  feathered  favorites.  As 
the  Parson  was  bound  to  be  famous,  at  least  in  this  way, 
he  spared  neither  pains  nor  hard  cash  to  get  the  best 
birds ;  and  those  of  his  rustic  parishioners,  who  were  ready 
to  boast  of  his  enterprise  in  this  respect,  would  assert  that 
he  spent  "  more'n  a  hoondred  poonds  a  year  "—much 
more  than  the  salary  he  paid  any  of  his  curates—"  t'  gat 
th'  best  gam  bloode  that  th'  coontry  could  affoord." 

This  boast  was  by  no  means  an  exaggeration,  for  the 
parson's  mania  in  this  direction  was  well  known  to  his 
journeymen  preachers,  every  one  of  whom  was  authorized 
to  secure,  by  purchase,  or  otherwise,  the  best  game  cocks 
to  be  found  in  their  respective  parishes.  So  delighted  was 
the  Rev.  J.  Rockett,  with  the  diversion  which  a  cock  fight 
afforded,  that  often,  even  privately,  on  Sunday  itself, 
when  his  curates  were  authoritatively  dispensing  the 
word,  and  perhaps  when  the  British  savages  on  the  Heath 
might  be  mauling  one  another,  the  parson  and  a  few 
favored  friends  could  be  found  in  the  large  enclosed  yard 
at  the  back  of  his  stables— a  yard  with  great,  high  walls- 
watching  with  delight  the  desperate  struggles  between  two 
birds,  and  staking  heavy  sums  on  the  result. 

The  Rector  of  Betnall  was  well  known  to  have  one 
apostolic  qualification,  if  even  his  defamers  would  admit 
of  no  other— he  was  given  to  hospitality.  As  his  table 
was  always  well  supplied,  he  liked  to  receive  stylish  stran- 


I 


126 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


-ij 


gers  and  fashionable  sinners.  No  doubt,  by  such  a  course 
he  perhaps  thought  he  might  entertain  "angels  una- 
wares ;  "  but  as  these  are  admitted  by  proper  judges  to  bo 
of  different  races,  it  might  be  difficult  to  designate  tho 
special  region  to  which  the  rector's  angels  sometimes 
properly  belonged.  However,  on  a  particular  day,  we  find 
him  showing  courtesy  to  a  number  of  peculiar  guests— a 
few  of  the  very  elect,  the  ordained  of  his  own  church, 
with  a  bishop  at  their  head.  These  might  be  truly  set 
down  as  saints  and  ministers  of  grace,  and  the  Christian 
ladies  who  flocked  about  them  were  no  doubt  angels— and 
bright  ones,  too,  as  the  great  majority  of  ladies  of  course 
always  are ;  and  never  since  the  happy  day  that  the  par- 
son conscientiously  took  and  subscribed  his  clerical  vows, 
had  he  reason  to  feel  more  elated. 

The  occasion  which  had  called  forth  the  special  hospi- 
tality, was  the  triennial  visit  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Stork- 
ohester.  Great  exertions  had  been  made  to  get  a  large 
number  of  ignorant  heretics  prepared  for  confirmation ; 
and  special  efforts  had  been  put  forth  to  get  up  a  dinner 
fit  for  the  Episcopal  stomach,  for  his  lordship's  chap- 
lains, and  for  the  clergy  and  distinguished  company  that 
were  in  attendance.  All  Betnall  had,  of  course,  turned 
out  to  see  the  Episcopal  carriage,  the  retinue,  and  the 
saintly  person  himself.  Early  in  the  forenoon  a  splendid 
coach,  drawn  by  four  glossy  bays,  drew  up  before  the  Eec- 
tory.  How  the  country  folks  stared  at  the  gold-mounted 
harness,  and  at  the  postillion,  the  coachman,  and  the  foot- 
man, in  blue  and  scarlet  velvet  liveries !  The  bishop— a 
rubicund  little  man,  well  preserved,  was  glad  to  see  the 
rector— his  reverend  brother  in  the  Lord.  They  had 
known  each  other  in  earlier  days,  and  both  bishop  and 
rector  knew  something  also  of  the  particular  thorn  that 
had  once  troubled  the  flesh  of  the  other  before  ordination 
had  in  a  manner  subdued  old  propensities  and  put  Satan 
to  his  wit*s  end.  His  lordship  and  the  rector  had  also, 
like  many  others,  obtained  preferment  in  the  Church 
more  through  the  influence  of  certain  distinguished  no- 


'4 


TSE  HEATHEJIS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


127 


blemen  than  in  consequence  of  theological  profundity  or 
of  marked  clerical  devotion. 

As  soon  as  the  bishop  had  entered  the  house,  and  got 
fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  gaping  crowd,  ho  gave  a  know- 
ing wink  at  the  rector,  entered  a  private  room,  and  when 
they  were  closeted  together,  his  lordship  hurriedly  svvui- 
lowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  laughing  aloud,  pulled  a 
small  note  from  his  pocket : 

"  Ah,  Jack,  Jack,  what  an  epistle  to  send  to  your  bishop ! 
Pon  my  soul  and  honor,  if  I  were  to  publish  it  in  the  Rec- 
ord, the  Archbishop  would,  no  doubt,  laugh  himself  into 
fits,  and  the  whole  race  of  dissenters  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba,  would,  of  course,  rejoice  and  be  exceedingly  glad 
at  the  expose.  O,  Jackl  what  an  apostle  you  are,  to  be 
sure.    What  a  cmtos  morum  among  the  clergy  1  " 

* "  Why,  Tom— I  beg  your  lordship's  imrdon  for  the  fa- 
miliarity—but let  me  see  it,  can't  you?  Tom,  what  the 
dev— I  beg  your  pardon  again— but  what  is  it,  what  is  it  ?" 

"Ah!  you  holy  rogue,  that  apostolic  hands  were  ever 
laid  upon  your  noble  skull! — read  that,  Jack,  read  that." 

The  bishop  handed  the  rector  the  few  lines  he  had 
received  a  day  or  two  previously  by  post  from  Betnall.  It 
seems  that  the  rector  had  written  a  short  note  to  the 
bishop,  informing  him  tha.t  everything  was  ready  for  the 
practical  reception ;  he  had  also,  at  the  same  time,  written 
a  note  to  one  of  his  curates.  Both  of  these  billets  lay  on 
his  desk,  and,  in  his  usual  hurry,  the  note  intended  for  the 
curate  had  been  directed  to  the  bishop,  and  it  read  as 
follows : 

"Deab  Folson:  You  must  get  that  cock  by  hook  or  by  crook. 
Give  old  Marshall  his  price,  if  you  can  do  no  better.  I'll  huvo  it  out 
of  him  in  some  other  way.  One  of  those  infernal  scoundrels  from 
the  Hoath  stole  the  splendid  bird  that  Hovey  sent  me,  and  I  must 
have  another  as  ^ood.  The  bishop  will  be  hero  by  Tuesday ;  send  as 
many  for  conflrmation  as  you  can.  Should  any  of  the  old  ones  for- 
get whether  they  had  ever  rofeived  the  rite,  no  matter,  lot  them  come 
on— wo  want  a  good  turn  out— a  second  operation  will  do  them  no 
harm.    Nail  the  cock  without  fail.    Yours.  John  Ro^lfBTT. 

The  parson  felt  a  little  chagrined  at  bis  mistake,  but  his 


108 


THE  BEATB2NB  OF  THE  HEATH. 


lordship,  who  was  in  the  best  of  humor,  did  not  Iceep  him 
a  moment  in  suspense ;  he  dranlc  off  another  glass  of  the 
excellent  sherry,  and  clapping  the  rector  familiarly  on  the 
shoulder,  said: 

"Now,  Jack,  no  nonsense  between  us.  On  my  word,  if 
I  had  a  good  chance,  I'd  really  like  to  see  some  of  this 
rare  sport  again— quite  harmless  in  its  way.  You've  got 
the  birds,  I  suppose.  Can't  you  lot  even  Vanscourt  have 
a  look  at  them  before  service ;  can't  you,  Jack  ?  He'd  be 
highly  pleased." 

There  was  no  mistake  as  to  the  bishop's  eagerness  for 
innocent  sport,  if  a  suitable  chance  offered,  but  his  lord- 
ship desired  to  be  circumspect ;  his  chaplain,  Mr.  Vans- 
court,  might  go,  but  he  himself  could  not. 

The  rector  quickly  turned  round,  delighted  at  the  hint, 
and  in  high  glee  replied : 

*'  O,  Tom,  you're  not  a  bit  changed— not  a  bit— the  same 
good  fellow  as  ever." 

.  This  hasty  and  rather  familiar  address  incautiously 
blurted  out,  again  bothered  the  rector ;  but  the  bishop  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.  His  lordship,  though  anxious  to  see 
the  birds,  and  perhaps  willing  to  have  them  tested  in  the 
pit,  was  yet  reluctant  to  appear  as  a  patron  of  such  sport, 
particularly  when  he  perhaps  might  ba  observed  by  some 
censorious  Dissenter  who  would  only  be  too  ready  to  cast 
a  slur  on  the  Church.  No,  he  would  merely  take  a  look 
at  the  game  birds,  and  should  they  happen  to  fight,  he 
must  retire.  The  rector  in  his  eager  desire  to  amuse  the 
bishop,  really  paid  but  little  heed  to  his  lordship's  objec- 
tions—it was  but  innocent  pastime ;  he  went  at  once  to  get 
things  ready,  and  while  Mr.  Vanscourt,  the  bishop's  chap- 
lain, and  two  or  three  other  divines  happened,  as  it  were, 
to  stroll  out  into  the  yard  where  the  cocks  were  being 
spurred  for  the  occasion,  the  bishop  and  one  or  two  of  his 
clerical  friends  remained  in  the  house,  and  watched  the 
proceedings  from  a  window. 

The  fight  soon  commeiiced ;  the  birds  were  well  match- 
ed and  the  contest  was  likely  to  be  close.    The  Bishop  like 


t 


If 


' 


tflfi  HFAtHEliS  OF  THfi  flEATH. 


120 


Others  got  somewhat  excited ;  neither  his  religion  nor  his 
elevation  to  Episcopal  dignity,  had  as  yet  altogether 
''whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him,"  and  he  look- 
ed on  from  the  window,  greatly  interested.  His  chaplain 
ventured  a  little  bet  with  one  of  the  clergymen  on  a  par- 
ticular bird ;  the  bet  was  of  course  taken,  and  the  rector 
even  offered  to  back  the  chaplain's  wager  and  give  heavy 
odds.  Other  persons  staked  sums  on  the  result,  and  by 
and  r>y  a  few  more  of  the  clerical  gentlemen  who  had  re- 
mained in  the  house,  having  an  inkling  of  what  was  going 
on  in  the  back  yard,  stole  quietly  out  to  the  arena;  host- 
lers and  men  servants  followed,  and  in  spite  of  every  pre- 
caution little  ragged  boys  and  laborers  climbed  high 
enough  on  some  of  the  poplar  trees  that  stood  in  a  row 
outside  the  wall,  to  look  down  into  the  yard  and  see  what 
was  going  on ;  it  was  to  them  as  well  as  to  many  of  the 
clergy  a  great  attraction. 

By  this  time  the  ciiaplain  had  become  so  animated  that 
he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  clerical  character.  Ho 
was  seen  standing  close  to  the  springing,  fluttering  birds, 
giving  an  exclamation  of  delight  as  his  favorite  made  a 
successful  dash;  now  again,  with  hands  on  knees,  he 
would  stoop  over  intent  on  watching  the  battle.  In  the 
temporary  confusion  that  took  place  his  clerical  hat— of 
peculiar  shape— had  been  somehow  knocked  aside  jauntily 
on  his  head ;  his  spectacles  hung  awry  across  his  nose,  he 
had  become,  as  it  were,  disarranged ;  and  altogether  the 
tout  ensemble  of  his  reverence  was  not  then  such  as  was 
strictly  becoming  the  conventional  gravity  of  a  prelatical 
chaplain.  Parson  Rockett  fussed  about  bareheaded,  so 
absorbed  with. the  struggle  that  he  apparently  forgot  the 
presence  of  the  bishop  and  the  clergy.  The  other  rever- 
end gentlemen,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  seemed  to  be 
greatly  pleased  with  the  sport,  probably  because  the 
bishop  appeared  to  be  go  delighted  with  it ;  and  almost  all 
in  the  yard  were  evidently  so  interested  in  the  fight  be- 
tween two  game  cocks,  that  the  occasion  which  had  brought 
most  of  them  together  at  Betnall  had  been  nearly  forgotten. 


. 


ido 


tm  WUAttlEJjB  0^  tttfi  ttUAf tf. 


All  this  time  there  wore  people  waiting  in  tiie  crowded 
churoh  wiio  no  doubt  were  under  the  impression  that  the 
delay  in  the  commencement  of  the  service  was  caused  by 
his  lordship's  attendance  to  his  private  devotions,  prei)ara- 
tory  to  the  administration  of  the  solemn  rito  which  was 
that  day  to  confirm  so  many  in  the  faith. 

If,  however,  his  lordship  of  Storkchester  and  certain  of 
his  clergy  derived  any  enjoyment  from  witnessing  a  forced 
flght  between  the  wretched  birds,  those  persons  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  bo  in  the  church  had  ample  compensa- 
tion for  having  been  kept  waiting.  Miss  Esther  Meade  had 
promised  to  come  from  Pendell  to  preside  at  the  organ, 
and  never  did  the  old  walls  of  Betnall  parish  church  re- 
sound to  richer  strains.  There  she  sat  like  a  divinity  sur- 
rounded by  silent  worshipers,  and  every  soft  note  that  she 
brought  forth  seemed  to  be  wafted  away  at  once  on  a 
mission  to  the  pearly  gates.  Was  she,  in  the  absence  of 
the  ordained,  making  supplication  like  a  ministering  angel 
for  the  people  ?  If  so,  the  strains  in  which  she  prayed 
made  every  ear  attentive,  every  eye  dim,  and  every  heart 
swell  with  emotion.  Her  sermon  was  tenderly  awakening, 
her  precepts  were  gentle,  and  her  petition  was  for  peace. 
There  she  was  proving  her  apostolic  power  before  all,  and 
working  miracles  for  unbelievers,  infusing  life  into  dead 
souls,  and  melting  sordid,  icy  hearts  by  her  grand  skill  in 
the  sublime  mystery  of  music.  What  ordination  could 
bestow  such  gifts  ?  and  what  virtue  could  emenate  from 
tawdry  mitres  or  crosiers,  from  formal  rituals,  or  ecclesi- 
astical display,  equal  to  that  v  hich  she  drew  forth  from 
the  chastity  of  soft,  sweet  sounds  ? 

There  was  a  hush  in  the  church  when  she  raised  her 
fingers  from  her  last  prayer;  and  then  silence  was  the 
worship  oflferpd  to  the  Great  Supreme.  But  soon  a  hund- 
red eyes  were  lifted  to  where  she  sat;  one  person,  more 
than  all  others,  seemed  to  be  lost  in  admiration ;  this  was 
the  Rev.  JVIr.  Morton,  rector  of  Pendell;  he  was  still  most 
attentive  to  Miss  Meade,  and  would  not  lose  sfght  of  her 
for  the  society  of  a  bishop.    He  stood  robed  inside  the 


Yfifi  fiEAtHEttS  O^  THE  BEATH. 


181 


altar  railing,  and  intently  Razing  on  tho  fair  proaohor  in 
the  organ  gallery.  Tho  Rov.  Mr.  Meade,  his  curate,  simi- 
larly attired,  sat  submissively  behind  him,  spceulating 
upon  tho  nature  of  spiritual  gifts,  and  doubting  whether 
the  most  pr<  lentious  priest  could  excel  his  daughter's 
simple  power  over  human  hearts.  A  great  number  of 
smartly  dressed  young  people  awaiting  confirmation 
seemed  to  have  grown  devoutly  thoughtful  for  the  first 
time ;  and  a  venerable  couple  who  were  seated  in  a  retired 
corner  looked  as  if  desirous  of  leaving  "  this  vale  of  tears" 
for  the  heaven  that  was  then  present  to  their  imagination. 
It  was  old  Stephen  Gray  and  Sarah  Afton  who  sat  side  by 
side.  Old  Sarah  with  pensive  aspect  was  perhaps  thinking 
of  the  dreary  past,  while  Stephen,  with  suft'used  eyes,  seem- 
ed full  of  hope.  He  looked  tenderly  at  her  who  was  near 
him,  and  then  gratefully  up  at  his  other  angel,  Esther 
Meade,  and  then  he  wondered  in  his  simplicity  how  aha 
came  to  bo  able  to  make  people  weep ;  he  wondered  where 
music  had  its  birth ;  and  then  again  he  wondered  whether 
when  the  troubles  of  this  life  were  all  over,  Sarah  and  he 
should  be  welcomed  by  strains  so  heavenly  when  they 
greeted  each  other  on  their  happy  arrival  in  the  beautiful 
land  of  the  blest. 


lill'i 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


A 


CLERICAL  THAUMATURGT. 

rilHOSE  experienced  in  religious  matters  assert  that  the 
-^  change  from  nature  to  grace  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable. Old  things  are  said  to  have  passed  away,  and 
all  things  to  have  become  new.  That  is  to  say,  the  gross 
desires  which  a  man  is  said  to  have  as  a  worldling  are 
relinquished  for  the  more  elevated  and  spiritual  enjoy- 
ments which  a  lively  faith  is  presumed  to  bestow.  It 
would  be  auspicious  indeed  were  this  change  as  lasting  as 
it  is  pronounced  to  be  beneficial ;  but  unhappily  it  is  too 
evanescent.  Men  in  all  ages  have  beeoine  religious  enthu- 
siasts for  a  time,  and  persons  of  all  creeds  who  have  be- 
come disgusted  with  the  things  of  time  and  sense— disap- 
pointed with  expectation— have  generally,  after  longer  or 
shorter  periods  of  religious  devotion,  returned  to  the  world 
and  to  its  so-called  pomps  and  vanities,  to  its  pleasures  or 
its  engrossing  cares. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  no  class  of  men  have  been  more 
frail,  and  more  erring  in  religious  consistency,  than  priests 
themselves.  Though  they  undoubtedly  regard  heaven  as 
the  realization  of  their  fondest  hopes,  yet  the  honors  and 
emoluments  of  earth  have  been  sufficiently  attractive  to 
eclipse,  even  for  a  time,  the  glories  of  the  celestial  home ; 
leaving  them  like  ordinary  beings,  to  wander  wistfully 
through  the  fading  beauty  and  splendor  of  this  sinful 
planet;  and  while  preaching  to  others  they  themselves 
may  too  often  become  as  castaways. 


I  ■ 


I 


i 


t 


^ 


THE  fiEATHEKB  OF  THE  HEATH. 


133 


I 


Among  the  Brahmins,  where  are  said  to  be  found  the 
most  ancient  of  all  clergy,  a  man  is  born  to  the  priestly 
order,  and  is  consecrated,  as  it  were,  sacred  by  inheritance, 
and  the  Jews,  like  other  nations,  copying  from  India  and 
from  Egypt,  had  their  Aaronic  priesthood.  Among  Chris- 
tians, however,  there  is  no  such  royal  road  to  the  favored 
position,  and  one  must  prepare  for  the  pulpit  as  he  would 
prepare,  in  many  respects,  for  any  other  profession ;  but 
somehow  candidates  for  the  altar  are  always  ready  to  give 
a  guarantee  for  the  sincerity  of  their  intentions  by  assort- 
ing that  they  have  an  irresistable  desire  to  enter  the  min- 
istry— not  of  coarse  for  pecuniary  gain— but  to  sound  the 
glad  tidings ;  and  to  establish  the  purity  of  their  motives 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  they  are  prepared  to  solemnly 
swear  or  declare  before  ordi.iation,  that  they  are  called  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  go  like  apostles  inlo  the  highways  and 
byways  to  preach  the  gospel  to  perishing  sinners,  and  to 
try  and  induce  men  every  where  to  repent  and  to  be  born 
again. 

This  idea  of  a  "  regeneration  "—a  peculiar  scriptural 
term— had  its  origin  in  the  metempsychosis  of  Paganism, 
and  as  the  Hindoo  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls 
is,  perhaps,  among  the  most  ancient  of  all  religious  con- 
ceptions, this  idea  has  been  dopted  by  the  writers  of  the 
gospels,  in  order  to  illustrate  the  apostolic  meaning  of  the 
new  birth  from  original  sin  to  righteousness ;  and  every 
Christian  preacUoj,  :  ;.>i.i  the  lordly  Archbishop  down  to 
the  most  inaignii^cant  dissenter,  is  presumed  to  be  a  "new 
creature,''  is  jxp'-^cted  to  have  been  "born  'gi'in,"  and  to 
be  in  actual  per. 'es  .ion  of  this  great  cred^u;  \\  before  ho 
undertakes  to  venture  out  into  the  dark  places  of  the  earth 
to  add  "seals  to  \vi  ministry." 

Well,  if  we  find  ordained  heads,  after  asseverations  so 
solemn,  recklessly  flinging  aside  tho  assumed  garb  oi 
sanctity  and  giving  evidence  of  the  ^i  oasost  sonsual  desires ; 
if  we  find  a  majority  of  tbe  priests  of  ifl-nost  every  sect 
anxious  to  heap  up  wealth,  and  rliinkinj^  too  lightly  of  the 
prevailing  poverty  amo  ng  tl'  usa  ii^s  of  their  follow  crea- 


t 


i.i; 


kU\' 


m 


itn^  mtAfiiw^^  6f  tBe  ttfiAVfl. 


tures;  if  we  find  these  clerical  backsliders,  forgetful  of 
their  own  short  comings,  still  calling  on  others  to  repent, 
what  description  of  confidence  can  be  placed  in  their  sincer- 
ity? If  other  sinners,  after  ineffectual  struggles  to  get 
rid  of  secular  entanglements,  resign  themselves  with  ap- 
parent indifference  to  the  gloomy  future  thpt  may  await 
them,  what  should  be  the  hopeless  condition  of  wantor. 
reverends  and  unfaithful  stewards?  i^shaw!  What  care 
they?  Look  at  their  manner  of  life;  the  luxuries  most 
of  them  enjoy ;  they  revel  in  sweets,  whiJe  many  a  starv- 
ing member  of  the  flock  is  languishing  and  despondent. 
What  care  most  of  these  consecrated  gour mends  for  daily 
or  hourly  insinuations  against  them?  What  care  they 
for  charges  against  character  and  conduct  too  often  only 
timidly  urged?  They  boldly  proclaim  them  calumnies! 
They  denounce  the  motives  of  a  doubting  Thomas,  and 
rise  to  insulted  innocence,  well  knowing  that  so  long  as 
they  have  the  confiding  and  devoted  Annas,  and  Marthas, 
and  Marys  of  the  Church  to  advocate  their  cause,  and  to 
resent  unholy  imputations,  submission  must  eventually 
follow.  These  are  the  living  refutations  priests  bring  for- 
ward; these  are  the  telling  facts  which  win  back  confi- 
dence, such  are  the  appeals  which  the  most  eloquent  accu- 
ser cannot  withstand.  No  wonder  that  clerical  corruption 
has  so  often  to  be  overlooked,  for,  as  it  is,  the  secret  of 
priestly  power  may  no  doubt  be  attributed  in  many  cases 
to  female  influence ;  and  experience  has  proved,  time  after 
time,  that  the  wily  pastor  may  too  often  derive  his  greatest 
strength  and  assurance  from  the  weakness  of  credulous, 
affectionate,  unsuspecting  woman. 

There  are  said  to  be  angels  in  heaven  who  surround  the 
celestial  throne,  and  whose  hosannas  to  the  Great  Supreme 
ascend  for  ever  and  ever.  We  know  that  there  are  angels 
on  the  earth  who  flutter  around  every  temple,  who  fling 
sunshine  into  every  place  of  worship,  and  who  illuminate 
every  altar;  they  sing  the  praises  of  their  priest  and 
prophet,  and  the  grandest  cathedral  would  be  gloomy 
without  their  presence.    These  are  the  radiant  visitants 


9M  mkm^M  of  1!tf£  tt£A¥d. 


136 


I 


that  win  men  to  devotion ;  these  are  the  glowing  texts  that 
teach  the  heart ;  these  are  the  evangelists  that  have  given 
saints  to  every  age  •  and  the  sternest  precepts  delivered  in 
the  most  formal  tont  of  authority,  would  find  many  unbe- 
lieving ears,  were  it  not  tliat  the  harshest  maxims  are 
moulded  into  music,  and  rendered  into  melody,  and  echo- 
ed back  to  men's  souls,  by  these  beautiful  angels  of  the 
temple. 

The  aspect  of  the  bishop  and  the  clergy,  as  they  enter- 
ed the  church,  was  the  very  picture  of  humble  piety. 
What  a  sudden  change  was  here  1  The  display  of  meek- 
ness was  admirable.  Ille  Right  Reverend,  ample  lawn 
sleeves,  with  bent  head,  and  gloved  hands  crossed  on  his 
breast,  preceded  by  his  verger,  with  silver  wand,  and  fol- 
lowed by  about  a  dozen  of  the  clergy  in  robes,  marched 
slowly  up  the  aisle,  while  the  organ  poured  forth  a  strain 
that  was,  at  intervals,  sublime  beyond  conception.  Lo! 
what  divinity  doth  hedge  in  these  apostolic  ones.  See 
the  veneration  they  draw  out  on  people's  faces  1  Wc  nder- 
ful  conjuration !  The  nobles  and  the  gentry  present  look 
with  pride  upon  these  distinguished  ambassadors  of  the 
Church,  and  upon  the  Church  itself  as  being  perhaps  the 
most  celebrated  prop  of  Britain's  national  greatness. 
What  confidence,  enthusiastic  credulity  I  Are  these  com- 
v<.on,  ignorant  gazers— the  pfei^s  rustica  et  urbana— who 
oland  behind,  impressed  with  the  benefit  of  a  State  relig- 
ion, or  of  any  other  religion ;  do  they  share  this  same 
enthusiasm  ?  Can  there  possibly  be  a  doubt  of  the  ten- 
dency of  their  crude  ideas  relative  to  ecclesiasticism  ?  Are 
they  growing  irreverant?  Time  may  perhaps  soon  tell. 
Quaint  revolutionary  notions  often  generate  and  mature 
in  the  brain  of  a  ploughman,  that  would  be  quickly  stunt- 
ed and  withered  under  the  mitre  of  the  bishop.  This  may 
be  an  age  of  retrogression,  for  somehow  the  inspired  con- 
ceptions of  the  Church  are  becoming  stale  and  obsolete, 
"^/irenge !  what  can  be  the  reason?  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
thought  is  at  the  root  of  the  matter,  and  that  the  tower- 
ing cedars  of  our  orthodox  Lebanon,  after  centuries  of 


if 


ini 


\u 


111 


186 


tHE  ^EA^tfiEtTS  Ot  TfiE  dEAI^tf. 


costly  experimental  culture,  are  getting  sapless  and  with- 
ered. The  Church  admits  that  the  age  of  miracles  is  past ; 
it  has  no  more  to  offer,  apd  the  moonlight  visions  of  mod- 
ern saints  fade  away  in  the  day  dawn.  Delusion  is  dead  to 
many ;  and  priests  who  have  been  "  overshadowing  "  truth 
in  their  secret  places,  begin  to  discover  that  skepticism  has 
its  birthplace  upon  the  very  steps  of  the  altar. 

His  lordship  of  Storkchegter,  when  seated  upon  his 
Episcopal  throne,  might  be  deemed  a  study  for  a  dram- 
atist; he  tried  to  look  like  a  man  who  had  not  a  shilling 
beyond  what  would  pay  for  his  breakfast ;  and  his  rever- 
end escort,  II  •  fishermen  who^ad  been  toiling  out  all 
night,  and  hat.  '  .t  i-iOthing.  Amiable  deceivers !  Yet 
who,  at  this  sol.  >  moment,  could  think  that  this  same 
humble  bishop  had  an  income,  derived  solely  from  his 
sph'itual  legerdemain,  of  over  £10,000  a  year— actually 
more  than  the  united  endowments  of  all  the  public  chari- 
ties and  hospitals  in  the  parish  ?  Who  could  believe  that 
this  one  man  could  earn  more  by  his  Episcopal  trade  in 
one  day,  than  many  a  poor,  honest  toiler  could  earn  by 
hard  work  during  a  whole  year  ?  Who  could  fancy  that 
this  bishop,  and  these  wealthy  rectors  were,  by  a  pious 
figure  of  speech,  called  "  despised  followers  of  the  cross '. 
Despised  indeed  ?  what  a  farce !  and  that  these  poor  sub- 
missive curates,  who  had  the  same  ordination  as  the 
most  affluent  clergy,  are  obliged  to  preach  and  appear 
respectable  on  a  paltry  allowance,  scarcely  beyond  the 
ordinary  earnings  of  a  tx'aveling  tinker.  What  a  foun- 
tain of  purity  and  justice  is  this  State  Church!  What 
gushing  pity  and  charity  swell  out  the  lordly  bosoms  of 
its  clerical  magnates !  Alas !  it  seems  that  ecclesiastical 
elevation  has  not  always  a  tendency  to  expand  the  kind- 
liest impulses  of  our  nature.  Bishops  are  generally  as 
sordid  as  common  men ;  they  mostly  keep  all  they  get. 
The  poor  are  seldom  benefitted  by  the  death  of  a  wealthy 
divine.  Practical  bequests  are  mostly  for  relatives ;  as  if 
gold  gained  by  the  gospel  should  not  be  distributed  out- 
side of  the  Aaronic  household. 


11 

I:    ■ 


THE  HEAtHfiNS  OS*  THE  HEATfl. 


137 


le 
Ir 
le 


After  the  ceremony  of  confirmation  was  ovel*,  the  bishop 
delivered  a  very  feeling  charge  to  those  upon  whom  ho 
had  just  laid  his  Episcopal  hands,  and  all  seemed  to  be 
wonderfully  edified,  as  if  some  prelatical  or  spiritual  virtue 
had  been  imparted  by  the  mere  touch  of  a  true  successor 
of  the  Apostles.  Imagination  has  wrought  many  a  mir- 
acle ;  it  may  have  still  as  much  to  do  in  curing  a  moral 
evil  by  the  touch  of  a  bishop,  as  it  formerly  had  in  curing 
a  physical  evil  by  the  touch  of  a  king.  Any  way,  to  all 
appearance,  several  persons  looke'^.  more  meet  for  heaven 
since  the  bishop  had  pronounced  his  cabalistic  words,  than 
they  were  before  the  service  had  commenced ;  and  then, 
after  his  lordship  had  bestowed  his  solemn  benediction 
upon  the  retiring  congregation,  the  greater  number  of  those 
who  had  recorded  their  Christian  vows,  hurried  off  to  a 
neighboring  barn  to  feast,  and  to  dance,  and  to  have  a 
merry  time  during  the  remainder  of  the  day  *— the  rector 
and  some  of  the  gentry  having  given  an  amount  sufficient 
to  furnish  the  items  requisite  and  proper  for  this  peculiar 
festival. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  bishop  entered  the  vestry  in 
order  to  receive  a  formal  address  from  the  most  distin- 
guished among  the  laity  of  the  parish.  His  reply  was 
most  touching  and  affectionate,  reminding  many  of  St. 
Paul's  concluding  words  in  his  first  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians; and  though  he  tearfully  said:  "Greet  ye  one 
another  with  a  holy  kiss,"  he,  like  a  faithful  pastor,  warn- 
ed them  at  the  same  time  in  these  words :  "  If  any  man 
love  not  the  Lord,  let  him  be  anathema  maranatha." 

When  the  oration  was  ended,  his  lordship,  the  clergy, 
and  a  select  number  of  invited  guests,  were  to  dine  at  Par- 
son Rockett's.  The  rector,  of  course,  spared  neither  pains 
nor  expense  to  get  up  something  suitable  for  the  great 
occasion.  It  was  rather  an  exclusive  affair— no  ladies 
were  present— the  dinner  was  all  that  the  greatest  epicure 
could  desire ;  the  wines  were  such  as  to  satisfy  the  taste  of 


*A  common  "wind-up,' 
England. 


after  Oonflrmation,  in  many  ports  of 


138 


^Hfi  HEATHMS  Of  tflfi  HEaT«. 


li  t;i 


the  most  fastiflious  bon  vivant,  and  as  soon  as  somo  of  (he 
reverend  guests  had  been  sufficiently  stimulated,  diffidence 
gave  way,  and  the  boldest  opinions  were  ventured— even 
in  the  august  presence  of  a  bishop— on  many  of  the  prom- 
inent political,  religious,  and  social  topics  of  the  day. 
Among  the  clergymen  present,  their  ideas  seemed  to  be  as 
different  as  their  persons.  Though,  as  Churchmen,  they 
had  all  subscribed  to  the  famous  Thirty-nine  Articles— con- 
scientiously, no  doubt— yet  strange  to  say,  there  were  dif- 
ferences of  opinion,  just  as  conscientious,  regarding  the 
Bitual,  the  Athanasian  Creed,  the  mode  of  Baptism,  the 
Prayer  Book,  and  even  the  very  Scriptures.  For  instance, 
one  clergyman  would  alter  and  expand  the  Ritual;  he 
would  have  rich  vestments,  lighted  candles,  incense,  and 
tinkling  boi  s,  and  make  church  ceremonies  altogether 
more  attractive  and  imi)Osing;  another  disdained  all  hea- 
thenish shrvk  h  »vould  simplify  the  service,  and  purify 
the  Church  from  every  thing  Judaical  or  Popish.  One 
would  rid  the  Athanasian  Creed  of  its  monstrous  damna- 
tory clauses ;  another  would  retain  every  threat  that  might 
strike  terror  into  unbelievers.  A  certain  minister  thought 
immersion  of  adults  was  tlie  proper  mode  of  baptism ; 
another  firmly  believed  that  infant  sprinkling  was  just  as 
efficacious.  One  distinguished  divine  would  revise  the 
Prayer  Book,  and  expunge  from  its  pages  vain  repetitions, 
and  every  text  from  the  Apocrypha,  especially  anything 
inserted  from  the  book  of  Tobit ;  he  never  referred  to  that? 
book,  but  he  thought  of  Tobit  and  his  sparrows ;  a  story 
too  puerile  and  silly  for  Christian  ears ;  an  opponent  would 
not  lessen  the  bulk  of  the  Prayer  Book  for  any  considera- 
tion, that  estimable  book  was  compiled  by  eminent  bish- 
ops, by  some  who  had  laid  down  their  lives  for  the  faith. 
Next  to  the  Bible,  it  had  his  most  devout  veneration  as 
being  a  blessing  to  the  souls  of  men.  The  Apocryphal 
Scriptures  had  been  singularly  useful ;  for  centuries  they 
had  been  read  in  the  primitive  Church,  and  many 
learned  and  devout  ministers,  after  much  research,  had 
asserted  that  these  very  Scriptures  were  just  as  much 


Tflfi  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


139 


latJ 

)ry 
lid 
m- 
ih- 
th. 
las 
kl 

|cy 
id 


V 


Inspired,  and  as  authoritative,  as  those  wliich  had  been 
retained.  The  pious  story  of  Tobit  and  his  sparrows, 
could,  and  ought  to  be,  read  with  as  much  edification 
by  Christians  in  general,  as  the  story  of  Balara's  ass,  or 
that  of  Jonah  and  the  whale,  or  other  sinailar  holy  and 
credible  narratives.  One  rector,  on  the  other  hand,  broadly 
asserted,  that  not  only  Apocryphal  readings,  but  every 
discrepancy  as  to  time,  place,  and  circumstance,  and  in 
fact  every  statement  not  sustained  by  scientific  facts,  or 
not  in  accordance  with  the  advanced  ideas  of  this  enlight- 
ened age,  should  be  eliminated  from  the  holy  Scriptures ; 
to  this,  another  rector  tartly  replied,  that  were  such  a  pro- 
cess of  expurgation  resorted  to,  all  that  would  be  left  of 
the  Bible  might  be  easily  enclosed  in  his  lordship's  snufif- 
box. 

These  jarring  sentiments  among  clergymen  of  the  same 
church,  were  very  amusing  to  some  of  the  guests,  who, 
perhaps,  cared  but  little  what  Church  they  belonged  to,  so 
long  as  it  was  called  the  State  Church.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Meade,  who  sat  near  the  end  of  the  table,  listened  to  the 
foregoing  clerical  remarks  with  some  surprise;  he  had 
often  heard  similar  discordant  sentiments  uttered  private- 
ly, or  in  a  whisper,  but  now  they  were  boldly  spoken  even 
in  the  presence  of  a  chief  shepherd.  And  though  High 
Church,  and  Low  Church,  and  Broad  Church,  and  Narrow 
Church,  and  no  church  at  all,  views  were  expressed  with 
the  greatest  freedom,  the  bishop  appeared  indifferent  as 
to  what  was  uttered  by  altitudinarians,  latitudinarians, 
platitudinarians  or  attitudinarians ;  indeed,  his  lordship 
seemed  at  times  to  relish  the  discussion,  ready  to  prompt 
one  or  another  with  a  reply ;  and  he  would  occasionally 
enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  evident  discomfiture  of  som/^ 
contesting  divine  who  had  incautiously  gone  beyond  his 
depth  in  a  too  eager  and  confident  defence  of  what  has 
been  called,  with  a  kind  of  reverential  boast,  "  the  grand 
old  story  of  the  Pentateuch." 

During  the  time  so  occupied  in  polemical  discussion, 
the  bishop,  though  listening  at  intervals  to  his  debating 


I ! 


',4 


;• :  ■  t 


140 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


clergy,  was  mostly  engaged  in  conversation  with  his  old 
friend  and  host,  Parson  Rockett,  on  the  merits  of  the  win- 
ner of  the  stakes  at  the  late  Derby ;  and  he  would  become 
almost  absorbed  in  depicting  the  fine  points  of  the  most 
noted  horses  of  the  day.  While  at  college,  his  lordship 
and  the  rector  had  backed  many  a  fleet  courser  at  Epsom, 
and  at  other  places,  and  it  was  still,  it  might  be  said,  a 
matter  of  harmless  interest  to  renew  an  old  theme  that 
had  enabled  them  to  pass  many  a  pleasant  hour„ 

"Vanscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  now  addressing  one  of 
his  chaplains  who  sat  near  him,  "Have  you  nothing  to 
say  among  these  wranglers  ?  But,  O !  I  ^know  you  are  a 
sad  skeptic,  and  you  are  glad  to  hear  those  fellows  tear 
theology  to  pieces.    Is  that  not  so  ?  " 

"You  know,  my  lord,"  replied  M:\  Vanscourt,  "that  if 
the  wolves  devour  one  another,  it  will  be  so  much  better 
for  the  flock.  You  are,  of  course,  aware  that  some  of  our 
leading  modern  philosophers  incline  to  think  that  theol- 
ogy itself  is  a  ravening  wolf  which  mankind  ought  to 
hunt  down;  and  in  my  opinion,  the  priests  themselves 
are  now  doing  the  work  which  the  people  ought  to  have 
done  long  ago.  For  ages  the  Church,  like  Saturn,  has 
lived  on  its  children— devoured  its  offspring.  But  Neme- 
sis has  come  at  last,  and  now  the  Chuch,  like  Niobe,  may 
mourn  over  those  who  have  departed;  over  many,  my 
lord,  who  will  never  return." 


CHAPTEE   XV. 


DOUBTING  CLERGY,  EDUCATED  HEATHEN,  THE  MERCHANDIZE  OF 

SOULS. 

rpHE  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt,  the  bishop's  favorite  chaplain, 
■*■  was  one  of  those  clergymen  of  the  Colenso  type, 
whom  his  lordship  was  pleased  to  call  eccentric.  He  was 
as  reckless  in  reasoning  on  statements  in  the  "Sacred 
Texts,"  as  he  would  be  on  statements  in  Baron  Munchau- 
sen or  in  Gulliver's  Travels ;  and  it  was  thought  that  he 
was  even  too  ready,  and  too  impolitic,  to  admit  the  conclu- 
sions which  such  reasoning  might  force  upon  him.  Still, 
while  willing  to  be  numbered  among  the  clergy,  and  to 
receive  clerical  pay,  he  would  pass  many  a  joke  at  the 
expense  of  things  called  sacred,  and  would  fain  be  taken 
for  a  skeptic,  just  as  a  very  numerous  class  of  persons  who 
are  in  reality  skeptics,  yet  lacking  moral  courage,  would 
like  to  pass  current  in  Christian  society  as  being  truly 
orthodox.  At  times  Mr.  Vanscourt  would  startle  his  cler- 
ical friends  with  questions  which  were  suggestive  of  any 
thing  but  confident  belief  in  the  inspiration  of  the  scrip- 
tures, and  though  he  was  looked  upon  by  some  of  the 
clergy  as  an  "oddity,"  and  by  others  as  a  very  tottering 
pillar  of  the  Church,  yet  so  long  as  the  spiritual  ruler  of 
Storkchester  was  satisfied  with  his  ministrations,  and 
content  to  retain  him  as  his  principal  chaplain,  of  what 
use  was  it  to  complain,  or  even  to  remonstrate  ?  There 
were  many  others  such  as  Mr.  Vanscourt  within  the  pale ; 
and  when  prelates  dared  to  write  heresy,  and  distinguish- 


\A 


il 


142 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


M 


ed  clergy  to  print  reviews  calculated  to  undermine  the 
true  faith,  surely  the  mere  words  of  this  favorite  chap- 
lain might  be  overlooked.  Furthermore,  did  not  this 
**  eccentric  "  priest  know  something  of  the  acts  of  the 
undoubtedly  orthodox  clergy  that  was  far,  far  worse  than 
heterodox  words,  and  more  contaminating  than  the  great- 
est skepticism  ?  * 

"  But  Vanscourt,"  again  said  his  lordship  in  a  quizzing 
manner,  "while  you  stand  inapulpitand  wq^ragown,  you 
must  not  hesitate  to  say  something  in  defence  of  the  faith. 
Some  of  our  friends  here  try  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
gospels  are  mere  fabrications  from  ancient  legends,  one 
gospel  contradicting  the  other.  Come,  let  us  have  a  vin- 
dication or  an  exposition  from  y8u." 

"  My  lord,  I  must  admit  my  total  inability  to  satisfy 
your  lordship's  astuteness  upon  points  so  dubitative.  At 
best  we  can  only  guess  as  to  whom  the  gospels  can  be 
ascribed.  I  am  reluctantly  obliged  to  say  that  these  writ- 
ings contain  many  contradictions  which  we  cannot  gloss 
over  as  Tertullian,  Origen  and  Eusebius  have  done.  Ter- 
tullian,  you  know,  said  that  he  believed  a  certain  doctrine 
to  be  '  absolutely  true  because  it  was  manifestly  impossi- 
ble,' and  Eusebius  would  have  gone  further.  But  in  these 
latter  days  we  are  obliged  to  give  a  more  tangible  reason 
for  the  faith  that  is  in  us.  There  is  a  track  of  doubt  on 
every  modern  highway.  I  cannot  assert  that  much  learn- 
ing will  make  men  mad,  but  I  am  positive  it  will  make 
them  skeptical.  Boys  now  laugh  at  the  ogres  that  fright- 
ened their  fathers,  verifying  the  remark,  that  the  creed  of 
one  age  may  be  the  romance  of  the  next." 

"Take  care,  Vanscourt,  take  care;  if  you  must  doubt 
on  your  travels  and  take  it  home,  you  should  never  bring 
it  to  church  with  you." 

"  But,  my  lord,"  returned  the  chaplain,  "  what  a  hercu- 
lean task  it  would  be  were  we  obliged  to  try  and  reconcile 
the  statements  and  doctrines  of  the  original  number  of 


1 1 

I 


y 


*  See  Note  6. 


•''■ 


THE  HEATBEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


148 


•\ 


gospels.  If  there  are  so  many  discrepancies  in  the  four 
which  we  are  blessed  with,  what  a  number  there  might  be 
in  the  forty  or  fifty  which  you  are  aware  were  received  by 
the  ancient  fathers  of  the  Christian  Church." 

•*Ah,  Tanscourt,  you  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  times 
of  these  same  primitive  fathers.  If  we  at  this  late  period 
are  so  easily  improved  on  as  you  think,  what  a  field  there 
might  then  have  been  for  your  critical  talents  among  such 
men  as  Eusebius,  who  we  must  admit,  was  not  over  scrup- 
ulous in  the  inventing  of  so-called  official  records  and 
miraculous  legends,  to  gain  believers.  Pshaw !  what  was 
the  real  harm  in  that,  if  he  made  men  better  ?  You  are 
too  critical,  Vanscourt ;  you  would  have  made  a  capital 
Celsua." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord,  for  the  compliment ;  I  am  glad 
you  are  willing  to  admit  that  Eusebius,  and  others  of  the 
Christian  fathers,  were  not,  as  you  are  pleased  to  say,  too 
scrupulous,  in  order  to  make  their  opinions  popular. 
Though  some  of  our  divines  still  almost  worship  Eusebius, 
proof  is  now  abundant  that  he  dealt  in  wholesale  fabrica- 
tion ;  he  would  not  hesitate  to  write  a  gospel  himself  were 
it  necessary  to  convince  others.  His  interpolation  in  Jo- 
sephus,  and  his  other  pious  frauds,  stamp  him  as  a  master 
in  the  art  of  deception.  Indeed,  his  motto  might  well 
have  been — '  Vulgus  vult  decipi — decipiatur* 

"Vanscourt,  Vanscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  laughing, 
"  you  are  really  another  Celsus.  You  make  no  allowance 
whatever  for  the  pious  zeal  of  the  early  bishops ;  they  had 
to  accommodate  themselves  to  the  superstitions  of  igno- 
rant pagans.  If  our  great  apostle  thought  it  harmless  to 
tell  a  little  fib,  to  make  converts,  some  excuse  r  aid  be 
made  for  Eusebius.  Paul  said  plainly,  '  For  if  the  truth 
of  God  hath  more  abounded  through  my  lie,  unto  His 
glory,  why  yet  am  I  also  judged  as  a  sinner  ? '  What  can 
you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  care  not,  my  lord ;  a  lie  is  a  lie,  whether  spoken  by 


The  common  people  wish  to  be  deceived— deceived  let  them  be^ 


144 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 


; ' 


I*     t 


I 


.; ;.! 


fti 


n  <r' 


Peter,  or  Paul,  or  the  anpel  Gabriel.  'Truth  is  a  pillar 
that  can  stand  alone ;  it  needs  not  the  buttress  of  false- 
hood to  keep  it  perpendicular,  and  some  of  those,  whom 
we  called  ignorant  pagans,  soon  told  us  as  much." 

"No  use,  no  use  in  speaking  to  you,  Vansoourt;  vou 
are  incorrigible.  While  many  of  our  most  eminent 
logians  admit  that  it  is  still  a  debatable  question,  whotner 
we  may  not  deceive  the  vulgar  if  it  be  for  their  own  good  ; 
whether  we  may  not  do  a  little  evil  that  good  may  come ; 
you  would  have  straight  up  and  down  perfection.  No  such 
thing  is  to  be  had.  Vanscourt,  take  care ;  I  lately  heard 
one  of  our  pious  ministers  prophesy  that  the  death  of 
Judas  was  in  store  for  you." 

"Prophets,  my  lord,  cannot  always  be  relied  on.  Ora- 
cles, prophets,  seers,  and  soothsayers,  are  now  rated  by 
many  as  nothing  beyond  shrewd  guessers  or  common 
fortune  tellers.  Some  of  our  commentators  have  been 
sadly  puzzled  to  know  whether  any  prophesies  have  e*  " 
been  fulflllod.  Appropos  of  Judas,  I  must  now  seek  ii 
mation  from  you.  What  was  the  end  of  this  disciple?  1 
would  like  to  know  what  kind  of  a  death  it  is  which  our 
clerical  friend  says  is  in  store  for  me.  One  of  our  scrip- 
tural accounts  say  that  Judas  we«t  out  and  hung  himself; 
another  account  of  equal  authority  intimates  that  he  per- 
formed hari  kari,  as  they  still  do  in  the  East,  that  is, 
he  burst  asunder  in  the  middle,  and  that  all  his  bowels 
gushed  out.  Now  will  your  lordship  be  pleased  to  enlight- 
en me  on  this  subject  ?    How  did  Judas  die  ?  " 

It  is  not  known  whether  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt  ever 
got  a  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question,  his  lordship's 
attention  having  been  called  in  another  direction.  Differ- 
ent subjects,  by  different  parties,  had  been  discused  at 
both  ends  of  the  table,  matters  which  seemed  to  attract 
much  attention,  and  one  which  related  to  the  very  strange 
remarks  made  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,*  at  a  late 


*  At  Carlisle— 1872.  The  above  remarks  of  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, and  the  Hindoo  replies,  are  an  abridgement  of  those  pub- 
lished in  the  London  Times, 


THE  IILATIIKNM  OV  THK  OKATH, 


145 


liilssloii.iiy  meeting.  "  HIh  Gmce,"  in  urj,Mnvr  the  noooH- 
niiy  ior  ^,'reatui-  missionary  exertions  umoriv?  tiie  lieutlien, 
was  roi)ortc(l  to  iiave  s«ud,  when  referring  to  tiie  tlunger 
whicli  lie  tliouj,'iit  existed  by  an  inereased  intoreourse  witli 
tlie  Kfi'ttt  number  of  Hindoo,  Cliinese,  and  Japanese  mer- 
chants and  students  in  London,  tliat  "  In  our  metropolis 
wo  are  brought  so  near  heathenism  of  the  worst  class, 
that,  unless  wo  take  some  steps  for  the  converting  of  the 
heathen,  the  heathen  will  be  co)ivert'nt(j  hh.  For  this  is  not 
merely  an  imaginary  idea,  I  am  afraid  to  say  it,  but  I  can- 
no'  help  thinliing  that  this  great  proximity  of  the  East  to 
ourselves,  has  somehow  or  other,  alTectod  the  philosophy 
on  which  the  young  men  feed  in  our  great  seminaries  of 
learning ;  that  men  of  learning  liave  more  toleration  for 
that  denial  than  they  had  in  the  olden  times;  that  sys- 
tems wlii(;h  have  existed  for  centuri(>s  in  the  extreme  lands 
of  heathenism,  are  finding  some  sort  of  echo  even  among 
the  literature  and  philosophy  of  this  Christian  country." 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  who  heard  this  extract  read,  was 
amazed  at  such  an  admission  from  the  Primate  of  the 
great  wealthy  Established  Cliurch  of  England ;  amazed 
to  find  him  concede  the  possibility  of  the  heathen  "  con- 
verting us,"  and  to  find  liis  logic  floundering  through 
weak  oppressions,  such  as  "  some  how  or  other,"  "some 
sort  of  eclio,"  phrases  unsuitable  for  the  capacity  of  a 
school  boy.  What!  after  all  the  treasure  that  has  been 
wrung  from  the  nation  in  support  of  the  popular  faith, 
after  the  assumed  purer  faith  having  been  propped  and 
supported  for  centuries  by  kings  and  rulers;  after  the 
powerful  aid  of  money  and  sword ;  after  the  vast  expendi- 
ture which  has  been  incurred  to  Christianize  such  hea- 
thens; after  prayer  and  the  persecution  of  unbelievers; 
and  after  the  Divine  promise  of  support!  What!  all  to 
be  endangered  by  the  too  free  intercourse  with  a  mere 
half  hundred  of  educated  heathens ;  a  danger  of  being 
converted  to  heathenism  by  the  very  people  among  whom, 
and  for  whose  supposed  benefit,  we  have  been  wasting 
missionary  lives  and  missionary  treasure,  while  leaving 


146 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


1^1 


British  heathens— a  class  too  ignorant  and  too  brutal  to 
be  compared  with  Asiatics— in  a  state  of  the  lowest  degra- 
dation. O!  your  Grace  of  Canterbury,  O!  wealthy  Pri- 
mate, what  an  admission !  What  an  inducement  for  tho 
intelligent  Brahmins,  and  Buddhists,  and  Parsces,  to  take 
your  fears  into  consideration,  to  return  missionary  com- 
pliments, and  to  mercifully  send  over  a  number  of  their 
zealous  educated  priests  to  heathenize  and  elevate  the 
lowest  caste  of  British  barbarians  who  are  such  a  crying 
disgrace  to  the  State  Church  and  to  civilization.  O !  Right 
Honorable  and  Most  Reverend  "  Canterbury!  O !  prince  of 
Lambeth!  your  pusillanimous  admission  should  make  you 
ashamed  of  your  spiritual  pretensions.  After  this,  your 
apostolic  twaddle,  aad  your  consecrated  imposture,  should 
be  treated  with  contempt;  you  should  bo  mulct  by  all 
Christendom,  were  it  only  to  the  paltry  extent  of  one  year's 
salary;  you  would  hardly  miss  £15,000— ($75,000,)  and  it 
might  be  far  better  thrown  away  in  sending  one  or  two 
dozen  extra  missionaries  to  India,  than  to  waste  the  same 
amount  of  the  harder  earned  money  of  the  people  by 
leaving  it  with  you. 

The  remarks  of  the  Archbishop  soon  elicited  pointed 
replies  from  educated  Hindoos.  One,  among  many  forci- 
ble things,  wrote,  that :  *'.In  these  days  of  insincerity  and 
hypocrisy,  when  men  are  paid  for  declaring  opinions  and 
propagating  beliefs  they  do  not  believe  in,  it  is  not  a  novel 
thing  to  see  the  High  Priest  of  the  Established  Church 
expressing  opinions  remarkable  alike  for  their  inaccuracy 
and  want  of  charity. "  The  foregoing  part  of  this  sentence 
was  such  a  hit — a  very  hard  hit  too— at  the  position  occu- 
pied in  the  church  by  Rev.  gentlemen  like  Mr.  Vanscourt, 
that  nearly  every  one  at  the  table  applauded  the  palpably 
correct  statements  of  the  Hindoo.  And  the  same  educated 
lionthen  further  wrote :  "  Such  of  the  English  statesmen 
und  t)fficials  who  watch  the  transition  tho  Indian  mind  is 
passing  through,  and  tho  rapid  strides,  intellectual  and 
moral,  which  are  the  products  of  a  liberal  education ;  will 
bear  me  out  in  saying  that  the  religious  belief  (if  by  relig- 


4 


^ — 


BR 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


117 


gious  belief,  is  meant  a  system  which  inculcates  doctrines, 
of  future  life,  charity,  etc.,)  of  the  so-called  heathens,  is 
as  enlightened  as  thrl  professed,  (but  not  implicitly  follow- 
ed) by  the  class  whose  vifews  are  echoed  by  the  Archbishop. 
These  heathens  have  toleration  for  their  fundamental 
creed.  That  no  religion  can  be  considered  enlightened 
which  is  not  tolerant,  is  a  truth  taught  by  history.  Wo 
(heathens)  infer  from  certain  expressions  which  escaped 
His  Grace  that  toleration  has  no  recognized  place  in  the 
Christian  religion,"  and  the  same  heathen  further  added, 
**  it  is  as  unlikely  for  the  heathen  in  London  to  embrace 
the  belief  inculcated  by  the  Archbishop,  as  it  is  for  Mr. 
Stuart  Mill,  or  Professor  Tyndall  to  believe  in  the  com- 
monly received  form  of  Protestantism." 

And,  again,  His  Grace  was  replied  to  by  another  heathen, 
who  wrote  to  express  the  "intense  pain,"  with  which  ho 
had  read  the  "unjust  attack,"  made,  "  by  the  head  of  the 
Church  ofi  us  heathens."  "To  the  educated  heathen 
sojourning  here  it  is  a  matter  of  merriment  to  see  the 
different  sects  of  Christians  keeping  up  an  incessant  war- 
fare with  each  other.  '  "On  the  other  hand;  it  will  do 
immense  good  to  His  Grace  to  learn,  that  the  most  of  us 
heathens  from  India  have  an  unmitigated  hatred  for  those 
who,  having  it  in  their  power  to  ascertain  the  truth,  do 
not  study  accuracy,  who  do  not  care  to  read  the  works  of 
heathen  writers  on  religion  and  philosophy,  and  yet  abuse 
them  and  those  who  follow  them,  simply  because  they  are 
heathen,  who  have  not  yet  learned  the  simple  lesson  of 
si)eaking  without  disrespect  about  the  religious  opinrons 
of  visitors  to  their  country ;  and,  lastly,  who  call  us  hea- 
thens '  of  the  worst  class '  for  adopting  the  views  of 
celebrities  like  Mr.  Mill,  Mr.  Spencer,  Mr.  Darwin,  Prof. 
Huxley  and  others." 

The  Ke^  Mr.  Meade,  who  had  hoard  this  rep  jrt  read 
by  one  of  the  Rev.  gontlonion  present  felt  that  th(!  remarks 
of  these  heathens  were  but  too  true:  that  not  only  intelli- 
gent Christians  but  Christian  priests,  do  not  care  to  "  study 
accuracy  "  aa  to  the  position  of  unbelievers,  and  do  not 


:| 


h 


148 


THE  UEATUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dosirc  to  rotul  the  works  of  heathens  or  of  infidels,  just  as  if 
it  were  possible  to  eonie  to  a  fair  decision  without  hearing 
both  sides  impartially.  He  felt  that  priestly  misrepresent- 
tations,  though  as  common  as  ever  against  heathens  and 
unbelievers,  were,  after  all,  but  little  heeded,  while  the 
reasoning  of  Mill,  and  Spencer,  and  the  scientitio  doctrines 
of  Darwin,  Huxley,  and  Tyndall,  were  receiving  increased 
attention  even  when  religious  creeds  and  revelations  were 
being  declared  illusory  by  the  startling  facts  of  science. 

When  the  reading  of  the  Archbishop's  adc  rfs,  and  the 
Hindoo  replies  thereto  had  been  finished,  the  greater 
number  of  clergymen  present,  as  well  as  Mr.  Meade  were 
altogether  more  inclined  to  applaud  the  manly  sentiments 
of  the  educated  heathens  than  to  defend  the  craven  posi- 
tion of  the  Archbishop. 

The  conversation  then  turned  upon  advowsons.  Two  or 
three  of  the  wealthy  rectors  mentioned  several  choice 
places  where  capital  livings  could  be  had  for  a  mere  song, 
and  one  of  these  gentlemen  just  then  happened  to  see  in  the 
I)aper  in  which  he  had  been  reading  about,  "  The  Arch- 
bishop and  the  Heathens,"  a  number  of  clerical  advertise- 
ments for  the  sale  of  advowsons,  one  of  which  was  as 
follows : 

••  ADVOWSON  FOR  SALE  BY  PRIVATE  CONTRACT.* 

Advowson  of  a  living  in  the  south  of  England.  Population  250, 
wholly  agricultural.  No  Dissnit.  Fine  old  church,  lately  restored. 
Capital  house,  containing  twelve  bed  and  three  sitting-rooms,  offlco, 
stabling,  etc.,  complete.  Productive  garden,  hot-house,  conservatory. 
Dry.soii  and  mild  climate.  Good  market  town.  Communication  to 
London  and  all  parts  of  the  country  by  railway.  Estimated  value 
£520  per  annum.    Age  of  the  present  incumbent  66." 

There  was  considered  a  chance  for  speculation  and  cleri- 
cal call ;  only  a  population  of  2C>0,  no  dissent,  the  incumbent 
GO,  and  a  chance  of  his  being  sickly.  This  was  said  to  be 
the  cream  of  all  similar  advertisements  in  that  day's 
liaper,  and  was  pronounced  just  the  thing  for  any  gentle- 

*  This  advertisement  appeared  in  the  Church  Record,  with  others 
of  similar  purport. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THR  HEATH. 


149 


man  present  who  had  an  extra  worthless  stupid  son  to  be 
provided  for.  Indeed  it  was  believed  that  none  of  the 
clerical  intelligence  offices  in  London  could  furnish  better.* 

Alluding  to  this  advertisement,  an  English  paper,  the 
Birmingham  Morning  Fast,  remarks : 

"  That  is  a  delightful  touch—"  no  dissent  "—so  courteous 
so  Christian,  and  so  expressive ;  as  if  one  should  say  of  a 
house,  '  no  bad  smells,'  'no  vulgar  neighbors,'  *  no  ver- 
min.' Then  beside  the  absence  of  Dissenters,  the  living 
is  otherwise  desirable.  Two  pounds  a  liead  for  looking 
after  250  people,  with  twenty  pounds  over,  is  not  bad  pay, 
especially  when  we  consider  the  'fine  old  church,'  the 
'capital  house,'  with  its  twelve  bed-rooms,  garden,  hot- 
house, conservatory,  stabling,  and  other  appurtenances 
so  well  known  to  ministers  among  the  early  Christians. 
The  age  of  the  present  incumbent  only  sixty-six,  is  a  draw- 
back; he  might  live  twenty  years  longer,  and  then  the 
purchase  of  this  'cure  of  souls' — fancy  the  connection  of 
such  phrases !— would  be  a  bad  speculation.  Still  the  thing 
is  so  very  tempting  that  buyers  will  no  doubt  come  for- 
ward, and  the  right  of  shepherding  and  shearing  those  250 
sheep  in  the  South  of  England  will  pass  from  hand  to 
hand  for  a  consideration  like  any  piece  of  merchandise. 
We  wonder  what  St.  Paul  would  have  thought  of  the  busi- 
ness.   But  then  in  his  day  the.y  didn't  take  the  KecorcV 

The  clergyman  laid  down  the  paper,  and,  while  the 
eonversjition  continued,  Mr.  Meade  took  up  another  jour- 
nal and  glanced  at  its  contents,  and  another  advertisement 
soon  attracted  his  attention  ;  it  read : 

Clerical.— "  Wantod,  a  Curato  for  the  WarrinKton  Parish  ChunOi, 
Htipeud  iirst  year  £l5o.  second  year.  £l20.  to  undertake  the  whole 
duty  while  th«!  rector  is  away,  about  nine  months  in  the  year,  an  I  to 
superintend  the  raakinsr  of  the  rector's  hay,  etc.  Apply  to  theR<n'. 
W.  Quockott.  riK'tor  of  Warrington." t 

Ah,  thought  Mr.  Meade  what  a  chance  this  would  bo  for 

*Soe  Note  7. 

t  This  advertisomnnt  appeared  in  tho  Manchestor  Onardian  of 
July  aoth,  1870. 


ill 


150 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEaTH. 


Vfi 


mo,  what  an  advance  on  my  present  stipnul  but  why 
should  it  be  jE30  less  the  second  year  ?  Still,  however,  at 
that,  the  income  would  be  fully  fifty  per  cent,  over  what  I 
have  now,  and  for  Esther's  sake  I  would  superintend  the 
making  of  hay  or  even  make  it  myself.  But  then,  agafln 
thought  he,  even  if  I  should  get  this  position,  how  could  I 
leave  my  poor  wife's  grave ;  how  could  I  leave  the  vener- 
able church  in  which  I  have  so  long  preached ;  how  could 
I  leave  my  old  parishioners.  Where  would  be  good  old 
Stephen's  greeting  smile  in  the  morning,  or  his  kind  adieu 
at  night;  who  could  serve  Esther  so  faithfully?  Ah  no, 
dear  old  Pendell,  I  cannot  leave  thee,  and  when  my  sun 
sets,  as  it  soon  may,  I  must  rest  on  thy  bosom,  and  wither 
away  among  thy  autumn  leaves. 

No ;  great  as  the  inducement  might  be— an  increase  of 
stipend  by  fifty  per  cent.,  and  the  rector  absent  nine 
months  in  the  year,  with  the  privilege  of  making  hay- 
yet  the  poor  curate  of  Pendell  would  forgo  all  rather  than 
sunder  old  ties;  he  would  still  prefer  to  submit  to  the 
dubious  attentions,  and  to  the  increased  but  hardly  wel- 
come visits  of  his  rector,  Mr.  Morton,  rather  than  accept 
a  better  paying  position,  and  a  curacy  where  his  Rev. 
employer  might  be  present  only  during  three  months  in 
the  whole  year. 

Other  topics  were  then  discussed  by  the  convivial 
clergy.  Unbelief  and  Dissent  were  blamed  for  the  dissatis- 
faction created  among  agricultural  laborers;  "sj^'ikes" 
and  "unions"  were  denounced.  The  bishop  expressed 
himself  strongly  against  such  combinations ;  the  interest 
of  the  landed  gentry  and  employers  should  be  considered 
paramount;  and  declared  with  some  vehemence,  that, 
"  itinerant  agitators,"  who  speak  in  behalf  of  the  working 
men,  and  who  disturb  their  minds ;  "should  be  ducked  in 
a  horse  pond  ;"*  and  a  nobleman  present  approving  of  his 
Lordship's  remarks,  advised  that  all  who  joined  a  union, 


*  Tlin  very  words  of  tho  bishop  of  Oloucoster  at  a  lato  meeting  in 
Eutfliiiid— 1872. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


151 


"should  bo  deprived  of  their  allotments  "  (turned  off  their 
land)  "giving  no  hope  even  of  a  potato  patch."* 

The  question  of  the  growing  insubordination— as  it  was 
call  d  -of  working  men,  and  the  increasing  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence manifested  by  them  toward  their  superiors  and 
employers  led  to  a  conversation  concerning  the  lawless 
people  of  the  Heath.  The  unfortunates  were  bitterly  de- 
nounced as  cut-throats  and  vagabonds;  as  benighted 
allies  of  republicans,  infidels,  and  dissenters;  and  no 
words  of  condemnation  were  sufficiently  strong  to  expres? 
the  feelings  of  the  Eev.  Mr.  Eockett  against  these  viola- 
tors of  law  and  order.  His  position  as  a  rector  had  been 
scoffed  at,  and  his  power  as  a  magistrate  not  only  treated 
with  contempt,  but  the  vile  herd,  ungrateful  for  his  leni- 
3nt  exercise  of  authority  in  dealing  with  the  thieves, 
poachers,  vagabonds,  and  gypsies,  that  rambled  from  the 
Devil's  Dale  to  prey  on  honest  people— had  sent  some  of 
those  very  wretches  to  lie  iii  wait,  and  actually  to  plunder 
himself ,  as  it  was  he  was  comparatively  powerless  against 
them— they  conspired  to  protect  one  another.  A  bailift 
whom  he  had  sent  out  some  time  ago  with  a  warrant,  had 
oeen  nearly  beaten  to  death  by  more  than  fifty  of  these 
:owardly  scoundrels,  and  though  months  had  passed  the 


s- 


*  The  very  recomraondation  of  a  "Noble  Duke"  at  the  same  time 
—a  dissenting  minister  probably  alluded  to  the  Bishop  and  the  Duke 
in  the  following  reference  to  an  address- 
Mr.  Spurgeon  in  a  recent  address  in  his  tabernacle  took  occasion 
accidentally  to  refer  to  the  Warwickshire  farm  laborers'  strike.  Ho 
remarked  that,  in  many  instances,  clergymen  were  blind  leaders  of 
the  blind,  and  if  a  poor  man  went  to  a  Dissenting  chape*  ho  was  sub- 
jected to  a  kind  of  ostracism  by  the  clergyman  and  the  sciuiros.  Tlie 
condition  of  the  agricultural  laborers  was  most  shameful,  and  he  had 
not  rejoiced  in  anything  more  than  when  he  heard  they  had  begun  to 
stick  and  combine  for  their  own  interest.  He  wondered  they  had  not 
gone  out  on  strike  long  ago.  No  doubt  if  wages  were  raised  farmers 
would  complain  they  were  pinched.  In  that  case  the  farmers  must 
pinch  the  landlords.  He  had  not  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  the 
latter,  for  there  were  numbers  who  had  their  thousands  of  acres  and 
who  could  stand  a  little  squeezing  without  being  reduced  to  aoject 
poverty  thereby  Negro  slavery  was  nothing  to  the  treatment  of  the 
laborers,  and  it  ought  to  be  d^nouueod  by  every  honest  man  and 
caruest  tonguo. 


Ml,' 

'li'! 


lllii 


152 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


man  had  scarcely  yet  recovered,  and  the  injured  rector 
declared  his  intention  of  applying  to  high  authority  in 
order  to  rid  the  entire  Kingdom  of  such  wretches. 

There  is  something  in  human  nature  which  will  resist 
oppression  whether  it  be  clothed  in  tawdry  robes  of  state 
or  in  the  most  gorgeous  habiliments  of  priestly  power. 
The  ruffianism  too  often  displayed  byaharrassed,  hungry 
peasantry,  is  frequently  the  fiendish  shape  or  creation  of 
impotence  against  injury.  And  until  rulers,  priests,  and 
philosophers,  are  able  to  satisfy  the  impoverished,  why 
one  man  should  be  born  rich  and  another  poor ;  and  bo 
able  to  justify  the  great  inequality  of  our  present  social 
condition,  so  long  will  men  believe  they  have  been  wrong- 
ed ;  and  that  belief  will  cause  them  to  either  unite  in  a 
resistance  to  oppression  or  to  become  degraded  and  dan- 
gerous ;  talk  of  natural  depravity  as  we  like,  wealth  and 
repletion  may  make  men  insolent  and  mischievous,  but 
poverty,  pinching  poverty,  is  the  principal  source  of  crime. 


CHPATER    XVI. 


A  MISSIONARY  EXCURSION. 

f  PHOUGH  the  Rev.  Mr.  llockett,  rector  of  Bctnall  had 
'-  every  comfort  that  a  roasonaV)le  man  could  desire; 
tlioiigh  he  was  a  favored  priest  of  the  Established  Church, 
and  a  magistrate  of  tlie  county ;  though  he  exercised  much 
social  influence,  and  might  have  done  much  good  both  to 
the  rich  and  to  the  poor,  yet  he  never  considered  it  his 
duty  to  look  beyond  himself,  or  the  nominal  duties  whitdi 
his  position  required  him  to  perform.  He  was  hasty  and 
tyrannical  in  disposition,  and  was  certainly  anything  but 
a  favorite  with  the  half-starved  people  of  the  Heath,  for 
his  leniency  was  dreaded  and  his  mercy  was  terrible. 
Thieves  and  paupers  he  treated  alike :  and  for  the  most 
trifling  cause  he  sent  men,  women,  and  children — many  of 
whom  were  hungry  weak  and  sickly— to  the  hard  labor 
and  wretched  fare  of  the  dreaded  workhouse,  rather  than 
permit  vagrants  to  wander  about  or  to  beg  for  a  mouthful 
of  bread ;  for  this  Christian  minister  had  an  idea— one  per- 
haps not  peculiar  to  himself— that  a  man  who  was  very  poor 
and  very  importunate,  must,  as  a  matter  of  course,  be  a 
very  great  scoundrel.  So  he  had  a  ready  remedy ;  he  could 
not  compound  felony  with  a  penitent  thief— had  he  oidy 
stolen  an  apple;  he  could  not  conscientiously  show  mercy 
to  a  poacher,  and  as  he  thought  a  very  destitute  person  or 
a  pauper  was  a  disgusting  object  to  be  seen  at  large,  he 
committed  all  without  distinction,  and  let  the  mercy  of 
the  law  take  its  course— the  only  mercy  he  could  over  show. 


IM 


fTHE  ItEAtHENS  6P  THE  HEATH. 


It  might,  however,  bo  alleged  that  he  had  some  reason 
for  this  magisterial  rigor.  Had  he  not  lost  rabbits  and 
bulldogs  occasion.illy ,  had  not  his  garden  been  ransaclced 
In  spite  of  his  man  traps ,  had  not  his  favorite  racer  been 
Intentionally  lamed ;  had  not  his  harness  been  cut  to 
pieces,  and  his  carriage  wheels  rolled  away ;  and  had  not 
nearly  every  game  cock  worth  keeping  been  stolen  from 
him?  And  the  pilfering  of  the  last  fowl  of  this  kind  caused 
him  to  be  greatly  exasperated;  and  though  he  had  not 
been  lately  troubled,  by  those  from  the  Heath,  he  thought 
It  was  because  he  had  been  more  watchful.  Paupers  he 
detested  for  their  craving,  and  gypsies  he  hated,  as  a  race 
of  wandering  superstitious  wretches,  whom  he  would  ex- 
terminate. 

Most  of  the  clergy  present  had  heard  of  the  "  lawless 
rabble  "  of  the  Heath  and  shared  the  feeling  of  Mr.  Kockett 
against  them.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade  alone  ventured  to  say 
a  few  words  in  their  beh  If— the  only  words  he  had  spoken 
openly  at  the  rector'^ table.  He  stated  that  the  condition 
of  these  poeple  had  been  lately  much  improved.  A  wealthy 
gentleman,  now  the  owner  of  the  old  Mayston  estate,  had 
returned  scarcely  twelve  months  since,  from  India,  and 
had  determined  to  reside  on  the  property.  It  had  been 
said  that  the  people  of  the  Heath  never  could  be  civilized 
until  they  had  been  converted,  but  the  gentleman,  though 
he  had  not  made  any  efforts  to  convert,  had  undoubtedly 
reformed  them  in  a  great  degree,  and  he  hoped  that  in  a 
short  time  the  marked  change  in  their  circumstances  and 
conduct  would  meet  even  the  approval  of  the  rector  of 
Betnall. 

"Reformed,  did  you  say?  Why  who  or  what  can  re- 
form them  or  improve  their  condition  ?  "  almost  roared 
out  the  rector.  "I  care  not  who  goes  among  them,  saint 
or  sinner,  'twill  be  all  alike.  Reform,  indeed !  Did  they 
not  disdain  the  pure  gospel  we  would  have  sent?  Did 
they  not  afterwards  try  the  spurious  stuff  that  a  few  Meth- 
odist ranters  tried  to  cram  them  with  ?  And,  even  after 
that,  not  one  of  our  curates,  no,  not  one,  dared  venture 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  BEATIt. 


155 


among  them  to  counteract  false  teaching,  Don't  tell  me 
about  any  chance  of  their  reformation ;  neither  St.  Paul 
nor  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  cowld  do  any  thing  with 
them.  Transportation  or  the  gallows,  is,  and  can  be  the 
only  remedy." 

"  Now  I  really  think,"  said  the  bishop,  "  that  here,  even 
at  home,  right  as  it  were  in  our  very  midst,  would  be  a 
fine  field  for  the  exhibition  of  the  Primate's  missionary 
zeal.  We  have  tried  India  almost  in  vain;  we  have  had 
costly  experience  in  other  countries,  and  as  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  is  an  authority,  unless,  as  he  says, 
we  look  sharp  the  Hindoos  will  be  converting  us.  Glori- 
ous result  after  all  our  missionary  efforts!  Britain  to  be 
Bruhminized  in  the  nineteenth  century.  By  the  by,  who 
is  this  new  comer  ?  Is  he  one  of  these  self-same  Hindoos 
whom  our  Primate  dreads  V  " 

"No,  my  Lord,"  humbly  replied  Mr.  Meade,  "  he  is  an 
English  gentleman  who  had  spent  many  years  in  India — 
a  Christian  gentleman,  I  i)resume,  my  lord,  who  to  my 
knowledge  has  already  done  much  good  and  acquired 
much  influence  over  the  people  of  the  Heath." 

"  Well,  then,  he  must  be  one  of  the  Archbishoji's  Hin- 
doos," again  roared  out  Mr.  Roc^kett,  '*  he  can  be  no 
Chiistian.  Christianity  and  the  example  of  Christian  peo- 
ple have  tottilly  failed  to  influence  such  flends.  No,  take 
my  word  for  it,  the  fellow  is  a  Hindoo." 

A  genuine  laugh  followed  this  remark  of  the  excited 
rector  of  Betnall. 

"Strange,  very  strange,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt, 
ironically,  '*  if  Christianity  itself  has  failed  to  benefit  these 
ignorant  creatures,  surely  the  every  day  life  and  example 
of  educated  clergymen  of  our  Apostolic  Church,  ought  to 
have  settled  the  matter,  and  convinced  them,  at  any  rate, 
that  our  form  of  godliness  is  great  gain.  Pon  my  honor, 
this  discrimination  is  greatly  at  fault." 

"  Vanscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  humorously,  to  his  chap- 
lain, "  I've  a  great  mind  to  send  you  over  to  the  Heath  to 
try  your  spiritual  skill.    Come,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 


156 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 


l^r 


ii!  1 


111  • 


"  My  lord,  I  feel  myself,  alas,  too  feeble  for  such  a  mis- 
sion. The  Gospel  in  good  hands— in  your  own,  for  in- 
stance—might do  mi^ch.  We  know  that  most  professing 
Christians  prefer  a  gilt-edged  Bible  to  a  very  plain  one; 
and  I  think  that  gold,  with  the  Gospel,  has  made  our  faith 
attractive  among  heathens,  when  the  Gospel  alone  would 
be  rejected.  The  distribution  of  a  little  gold,  or  its  equiv- 
alent among  an  impoverished  people,  might  create 
on  the  Heath  a  wonderful  relish  for  our  doctrines.  I 
think  if  a  m<!n  wore  hungry,  ho  would  be  inclined  to  pray 
for  broad  lirst,  and  for  his  soul  afterwanl.  Now,  my  lord, 
as  you  are  far,  far  more  wealthy  than  I  am,  and  as  you 
possess,  of  course,  more  spiritual  gifts  than  all  of  us  hero 
together,  I  think,  therefore,  my  lord,"  said  the  chaplain, 
bowing  with  much  humility,  "  that  you  should  bo  the  mis- 
sionary to  the  Heath." 

"Very  good,  indeed;  well  done!  well  argued.  Vans- 
court,"  said  the  bishop,  laughing.  "Upon  my  word,  if  I 
thought  it  was  qtilte  safe,  I  would  go  down  among  these 
Britisli  heathens  and  see  for  myself.  Of  course  you  would 
come,  Vansoourt  ?  " 

The  chai)lttin,  with  seeming  hesitation,  spread  his  hands 
by  his  sides,  and  bowed  ac(iuiescence ;  and  then,  as  if  with 
a  timid  voice,  replied : 

'Where  your  lordship  would  choose  to  go,  I  dare  not 
refuse  to  follow;  but,  would  it  not,  would  it  not,  your 
lordship,  would  it  not  be  better  that  we  here  should  all  go 
together— all  together,  your  lordship?  What,  my  lord, 
were  we  obliged  to  fight  our  way  in,  and  fight  our  way  out 
among  those  evil  ones  ?  Let  us  all  go  together,  my  lord- 
would  it  not  be  much,  very  much  better  ?  " 

Another  hearty  laugh  followed  the  simulated  fear  of 
the  chaplain.  The  rector  of  Betnall  really  felt  uneasy  at 
the  proposal,  but  was  ashamed  to  exhibit  the  least  appre- 
hension. Mr.  Morton,  the  rector  of  Pendall,  wished  to 
plead  some  excuse;  and  other  clergymen  present,  woull 
prefer  to  enjoy  social  conversation  over  the  rector's  good 
wine  or  brandy,  rather  than  be  made  targets  of,  or  be 


THE  fiEATHEKS  OF  THE  HEATS. 


157 


pelted  with  stones,  or  even  hallooed  after  by  a  tag^od, 
rascally  mob  away  out  on  this  vile  Heath ;  but  the  bishop 
havinpf  expressed  his  determination  to  {?o,  the  Reverend 
clergy  all  seemed,  like  other  servile  beings,  to  comply 
with  alacrity. 

The  Rov.  Mr.  Meade  again  ventured  to  assure  his  lord- 
ship rjid  all  present,  that  they  mijjlit  now  go  to  the  Hoatli 
with  perfect  safety.  The  visit  might  be  the  production  of 
much  good ;  liis  lordship  would  see  for  himself,  and  would, 
no  doubt,  be  pleased  to  And  so  many  evidences  of  improve- 
ment. 

"By  the  by,"  said  Mr.  Vanscourt,  "this  intended  visit 
reminds  me  of  another  singular  contradiction  which  our 
translators  must  have  overlooked,  and  whic^h  our  com- 
mentators have  as  yet  failed  to  reconcile.  We  are  inform- 
ed that  an  august  personage,  with  his  attendance,  Ix'ing 
once  on  his  way  to  Sodom,  to  see  for  himself  whether  that 
city  was  as  bad  as  had  been  represented,  entered  the  tent 
of  Abraham  on  the  plains  of.  Mamre ;  conversed  face  to 
face  with  Abraham,  and  Sarah,  his  wife;  had  his  feet 
washed,  and  partook  of  cakes,  milk,  butter  and  veal- 
refreshments  set  before  him ;  and  yet,  in  another  place,  wo 
are  told  that — '  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time  * — that 
no  man  can  see  him  and  live— -'Whom  no  man  hath  seen, 
or  can  see.'  Verily,  my  lord  and  Reverend  gentleman, 
this  is  a  singular  contradiction ;  and  I  would  respectfully 
suggest,  that  those  learned  and  pious  men  now  engaged  in 
a  fresh  revision  of  the  Bible,  should  try  and  reconcile 
these  conflicting  statements,  or  else  alter  the  text,  as  you 
know  it  was  common  to  do  in  other  days ;  otherwise,  we 
may  expect  a  fresh  brood  of  skeptics  every  year,  who  will 
reason  and  reason,  until  they  make  most  people  believe 
that  religion  is  but  superstition,  and  that  our  apostolic 
authority  but  mere  empty  pretension." 

"  Now,  Vanscourt,"  replied  his  lordship,  "  if  our  visit  to 
this  modern  Sodom  is  likely  to  be  attended  with  danger, 
you  had  better  suggest  an  humble  prayer,  rather  than 
raise  another  skeptical  hobgoblin  to  frighten  us  away  from 


I)' 


158 


THB  HEATHENS  OV  THE  lllATll. 


our  true  faith.  Wo  want  no  moro  oninidfitions ;  wo  havA, 
I  fear,  conceded  too  much  alto^'^thcr.  Tho  Biblo  as  it 
stands  is  well  able  to  take  care  of  itself  without  any  of 
your  suggested  expurgations.  But  we  must  go  among 
these  wild  people.  I  think  it  is  our  duty,  particularly 
now  that  there  is  a  little  danger." 

Mr.  Meade  re-assured  his  lordship,  and  stated  that  by 
starting  at  once  they  could  be  all  safely  back  by  dusk. 

The  bright  sunlight  of  an  early  autumn  afternoon 
spread  its  radiance  over  the  wide  plain,  and  the  well  defin- 
ed shadows,  scattered  here  and  there,  added  nearly  as 
much  to  the  rural  scenery  as  the  light  that  rested  upon  the 
waving  branches,  or  that  flickered  among  the  restless 
leaves  of  the  scattered  trees.  Kuminating  cattle  rested  in 
the  shade,  or  stood  at  leisure  by  the  road  side,  quiet  flooks 
fed  or  lay  on  green  spots  in  the  distance,  and  the  white- 
washed cabins— not  the  rude,  wretched  abodes  that  they 
once  were— seemed  to  smile  a  welcome  to  the  visitor,  while 
tidy  looking  women,  surrounded  by  playing  children,  sat 
with  plying  needle  on  the  door-steps.  Far  and  near  in  every 
direction  a  number  of  men  were  ploughing,  and  leveling, 
and  fertilizing  the  long  neglected  soil.  Tiie  deep,  muddy 
pits  and  ditches  had  been  filled  up,  piles  of  brick  and  rub- 
bish had  been  removed,  the  long,  unsightly  sheds  had 
been  torn  down,  and  much  of  the  material  used  in  order 
to  make  the  dwellings  more  capacious  and  comfortable. 
The  chapel  had  been  turned  into  a  neat  schoolhouse  which 
was  well  attended,  the  "Rook's  Nest"  had  been  demol- 
ished, and  the  "Bull  Dog"  had  been  well  cleaned  and 
repaired,  and  was  now  a  kind  of  store  house  containing 
tools,  implements,  necessary  supplies,  etc.,  such  as  mi'>ht 
be  required  by  a  busy  agricultural  population.  W  „t  a 
change  within  one  year!     There  were  no  ha  aiken 

loiterers  to  be  found,  none  such  watching  or  itingto 
rob  or  abuse  a  stranger,  no  cruelty  to  animals,  iiu  brii  a) 
fights,  no  overworked  women  or  hungry,  suffering  child- 
ren to  be  longer  seen ;  all  seemed  to  be  buoyed  up  with 
hope  and  confidence  in  the  kind  encouragement  of  one 


TH  E  HEATHKNS  OP  THE  ttEATH. 


man,  and  all  soomccl  roady  and  wi'linp  to  remain  and 
trust  in  him.  So  far  only  two  persons  had  become  diasat- 
istied,  Tom  SlauKiitt-r  and  Ned  Bogg,  the  once  thriving 
landlords— one  of  the  Roolc's  Nest  and  the  other  of  the 
Bull  Dog— they  saw  nothing  but  ruin  to  them  in  the 
changed  condition  of  affairs,  and,  as  they  could  not  bo 
induced  to  stay,  they  had  left  the  place  In  disgust,  never 
to  return. 

On  this  pleasant  afternoon  the  most  tame  or  sombre 
scenery  would  lose  its  gloom  ;  the  steady  improvement  of 
this  part  of  the  Mayston  estate,  in  so  short  a  period,  made 
the  once  desolate  Heath  look  cheerful  and  inviting,  and 
as  the  bishop  of  Stoikchester  and  his  clergymen  were 
driven  slowly  a(U'oss  the  wide  plain,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  it  so  different  from  that  which  he  had  expected.  His 
lordship's  carriage  took  the  lead ;  no  wild  mob  threatened, 
no  one  with  felonious  intent  crossed  his  path.  Those 
working  on  either  side  merely  paused  to  look  after  the 
carriages  as  they  passed  along,  and  then  quietly  resumed 
their  labor.  Harry  Tamblin,  who  was  now  a  kind  of  over- 
seer on  this  part  of  the  estate,  happened  to  recognize  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  and  he  civilly  offered  to  conduct  the 
gentlemen  about  the  plain  and  show  them  what  improve- 
ments had  been  already  made,  and  what  were  contem[)la- 
ted.  Mr.  Meade  expressed  his  thanks,  but  told  him  he 
need  not  leave  his  business.  Upon  inquiry  for  Mr.  Valiant 
he  was  told  that  that  gentleman  was  then  in  Ireland ;  and 
though  he  had  been  absent  from  the  estate  for  more  than 
a  month,  things  went  on  with  as  much  regularity  as  if  he 
were  i)resent.  Every  man  seemed  inclined  to  do  all  in  his 
l)ower  to  second  the  efforts  of  his  generous  benefactor,  and 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  witness  the  earnest  endeavors  all 
made  to  break  up  the  hardened  surface  of  the  land,  and  to 
make  mellow  and  enrich  the  callous  soil  in  which  their 
hearts  lay ;  and  in  which  they  now  felt  that  they  already 
had,  for  the  first  time,  the  sacred  natural  right  of  owner- 
ship. Harry  Tamblin  seemed  specially  pleased  at  the 
ooulldence  rei)osed  in  him  by  Mr.  Valiant,  and  to  all 


•^mt 


ito 


»HE  M^THtoa  OP  ME  m^na. 


appearance    th« 

■"nong  thoJo  sturdytCrr?*'.''"''  """"""^  Prevailed 

"vre  dreaded  by  nlal^yT'l;'-  '•^'<^'^«  ^^^^  back 

<lesp.sed  by  their  s„.ea,fedW^Jd'"f  t"^  '"""'''«•  »"' 

Strange  as  it  may  be  tW  1        °«'«hbors. 
Koekett,  felt  rather  dfeltl''^°'^'^""'"-the  Rev  Mr 

'hat  so  mtie  notice  wttXTofl''''''  '""'"«''  '°  th^k 
o  any  Of  the  elergy„:r^:j^f'7f.  of  the  bishop,  „' 
been  spolcen  to  Mr  Meadi  h  ?  '"*  """  """-ds  I  ad 

■"Bult  had  been  oiTe^d  1  „"  """""^  "IWoaehing  a^ 
fally  <"=Pected -even  aim  w\°"'  ""''""  '■««for,  „ho 
'r'-ds  might  be  Jobbed  roth  """'-"'"'  "«  -^  '"a 
^ere  not,  as  yet,  even  Seated  ^'r'  "■""^<»'tod;  thoy 

at  the  time,  more  galling  t„  tu   ''"  .'"''"ferenoe  that  was 
0  'lii-oot  in.Iignitv     H„  '""  l*'''"  «'  the  rector  tl 

I're.liotio„s  conoe;nW  7^  '"^''^  ""a^^J  '«  And  tha   h  " 
v-iflod,  and  at  the  mUo'nlT''  "'  *""  =-«<  w^t 
I'>7Bodhadadozcn,Cke'    l"'""'''  ""'"  "eon  bet "r 
and  clergy  then  and  thcrl  .^m       ""'  ^"^'a'J  the  bisho,/ 

fav-ably  impressed  wi^t      t^rth  "'*"''°'""  -'"™ 

The  only  persons  on  the  hI^?!       *"'""'"'<'• 
hard  labor,  were  a  few  Lvl      /     ""'  «"«"  "nsago,!  at 
a;"c.os,  or  mending':^  wa  /orX"""  -»'"»*^  ' '«io 

ho"  LTh   ^"'''"=  "'""'ante  remTnldTH    k"'"'  ''"  «»"'«' 
ho  had  heard  of  the  gynsiorr?!     *"  '"''''oP  of  what 
<Ier,re  to  visit  their  ca  ,  7  Th       "<""  °noo  expressed  a 
■■eal  heathens,  and  mH  t  ,,„      ^  T"'''  '"en  be  amon" 
.  that  this  excursion  wT  "ot  o  a"mi,';  ""''^  '"  ""'^are; 
In  a3h„,jji^^^  they  reached  Th"""''^  ""'"■»«""•• 
Poenhar  people  still  iLfortd    '  "  'T^  ™'"P-    Th™o 
huts  and  tents;  and  as  the  n  ""  '"'  'hemsolves  in 

;-y  WnC  to  thorn,  thty  eemed^tTr'^  "'  '"-^'atew,' 
«lth  their  nannerof  life.  ThHisbo  '  ""''"""^  """"-nt 
in  front  of  the  principal  tont  zi 'f  ^  """"'"'">  "°W>e'l 
woman  was  seen  min<rZ^  Z'nsan's.  The  old  gyL  ' 
tree,  a  little  boy  sto"  "n™  t  .  IV',"'''  °'  "  ""~ 
m>»y  men  and  won,,.,  wer.   va,,       ,     "'"  "  ""^™  '"h-r 

've.cvaiiously  occupied  arounda 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


161 


few  other  tents  close  by.  His  lordshii)  looked  down  with 
some  surprise,  from  his  seat  in  the  carriage,  at  the  suppos- 
ed queen  of  the  wild  race,  and  as  he  thought  this  was  a  fit 
opportunity  to  commence  his  first  missionary  exhortation 
he  adtlressed  her :  "Well,  dame,  we  have  come  out  here  to 
see  you,  just  to  see  you ;  I'm  glad  we've  met.  You  have, 
I  am  told,  lived  here  in  this  curious  way  for  a  long  time, 
yet  I've  never  seen  you  before— you  do  not,  I  suppose, 
know  who  I  am?" 

Zingari  was  dressed  in  her  usual  fashion ;  she  was  al- 
most always  prepared  to  receive  visitors — for  she  was 
generally  much  sought  after— and  as  usual  she  was  knit- 
ting. She  seemed  quite  collected,  and  scarcely  looked  up 
at  the  new  comers. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,  and  we  have  never  met  here 
before,'" 

These  words  spoken  calmly  and  in  a  significant  tone, 
rather  surprised  most  oi  the  clergymen  present. 

"Oh,  oh,— perhaps  so  "—replied  the  bishop,  "many  of 
course  know  me  whom  I  do  not  know." 

"You  know  me  well,  and  will  never  forget  me,"  follow- 
ed Zangari  in  the  same  significant  manner. 

"  That  may  be,  that  may  be,  dame,  but  I  really  cannot 
at  present  tlink  who  you  are." 

"I  could  bring  a  matter  to  your  remembrance,"  said 
she,  "that  might  assist  you." 

"You  probably  could,"  h^  replied,  "  but  'tis  of  no  con- 
sequence, no  consequence ;  we  have  merely  come  here  as  a 
duty  to  give  you  our  best  advice  and  instruction." 

"Hear  him  I"  .said  Zingari,  looking  around  at  her 
gypsy  companions,  "  who  wants  either  your  advice  or 
your  instruction,"  and  her  words  had  a  scornful  meaning. 

"Well  perhaps  you  do,"  continued  the  bishop,  now 
determined  to  do  actual  missionary  duty,  "  perhaps  you, 
dame,  and  your  friends  here  might  listen  to  our  message 
and  bo  benefited,  you  are  very  old,  very  old  indeed,  and 
cannot  expect  to  live  much  longer.  You  and  your  people 
are  very  superstitious,  and  you  yourself,  I  am  told,  have 


T 

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1 

1 
1 

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¥HE  B£atbkks  of  DSB  &£Al:fl. 


I 


practised  on  the  credulous;  and  without  using  a  harsh 
expression,  you  have  talcen  money  from  poor  people  for 
fortune-telling.  Now  my  good  dame,  this  is  wrong,  very 
wrong,  for  w^hich  the  Almighty  will  hold  you  answerable. 
We  now  wish  you  to  reform ;  we,  as  God's  messengers, 
would  pray  you  to  abandon  your  error,  and  accept  truth." 
The  bishop's  manner  was  calm  and  confident,  and  his 
seeming  sincerity  won  looks  and  nods  of  pious  approval 
from  nearly  every  one  of  his  clerical  attendants. 

The  loud  laugh  of  the  old  gypsy  woman  startled  all 
present ;  even  two  or  three  of  the  gypsy  men  sprang  up 
and  ran  toward  her,  scarcely  knowing  what  they  did. 

His  lordship's  look  was  one  of  blank  amazement,  and 
when  he  saw  the  woman  stately  and  erect,  with  outstretch- 
ed arms  before  him,  he  instinctively  shrank  back  into  the 
corner  of  his  carriage,  as  if  anticipating  an  immediate 
attack. 

"God's  messenger!  "  she  exclaimed,  and  her  mocking 
laugh  could  now  be  heard  away  out  on  the  Heath.  "O! 
what  vile  assurance!  what  audacity  to  come  here  to  see 
me  on  such  an  errand !  Do  I  not  know  you,  you  prince  of 
hypocrites,  you  arrant  impostor  ?  Do  I  not  know  ye  all, 
you  race  of  devouring  beasts  ?  " 

"Silence!  you  infernal  old  wretch,"  now  roared  out 
Parson  Eockett.  The  bishop  quickly  raised  his  hand,  and 
with  nervous  gesture  waved  it  rapidly,  as  if  most  anxious 
to  keep  the  excited  rector  quie*t. 

"  I  will  speak  here,  with  the  heavens  above  me,"  con- 
tinued Zingari,  "I  did  not  ask  you  to  come,  and  now  you 
shall  listen.  Did  you  come  hero  to  have  me  accept  your 
stale  plagiarisms  for  truth  ?  Would  you  bring  me  doc- 
trines as  original  that  were  old  to  my  race  ton  thousand 
years  before  the  time  of  your  reputed  Moses?  You  have 
robbed  our  Vedas  to  form  your  creed.  You  have  got  your 
Old  book  and  your  New  book— the  Bible— a  thing  of  yes- 
terday; both,  as  you  try  to  believe,  inspired.  Inspired? 
Why,  they  have  not  even  the  merit  of  novelty.  Your  old 
book  is  full  of  our  ancient  rites  and  ceremonies ;  your  new 


THE  HGATHEKS  OF  TBS  BBADH. 


163 


book  is  but  a  re-hash  of  our  doetrinos;  our  Christnais 
your  Christ ;  and  your  new  fangled  creed  of  eighteen  hund- 
red years  is  yet  unknown  to  three-fourths  of  mankind,  and 
even  rejected  in  the  very  land  of  its  birth,  and  is  so  like 
ours  that  you  have  dared  to  assert,  contrary  to  plain  facts, 
that  ours  is  taken  from  yours.  You  talk  to  me  of  truth— 
that  which  you  have  never  sought  for.  You  all  chatter 
back  like  magpies  the  few  words  you  have  learned  from 
your  grandfathers,  and  you  do  not  look  further— you  dare 
not  hear  both  sides— 'twould  be  your  destruction." 

The  excited  rector  of  Betnall  was  again  about  to  make 
a  sharp  reply,  but  was  prevented  by  a  sudden  look  from 
the  bishop,  who  now  felt  somewhat  reassured,  and  he 
again  addressed  his  venerable  opponent : 

"Dame,  you  are  far  too  hasty,  too  hasty;  we  have  the 
truth,  of  this  we  are  assured.  We  do  not  want  to  argue 
with  you ;  but  what  have  you  done  to  gain  true  knowledge  ? 
We  are  confident  that  our  religion  is  not  a  thing  of  yester- 
day." 

"  O,  yes,  you  are  confident  because  it  is  popular  herea- 
bouts ;  you  are  assured  of  its  truth  because  it  gives  you 
paying  positions.  You  don't  want  to  argue  because  your 
priestly  presumption  could  be  no  gainer.  No,  you  would 
prefer  to  look  up  thought  and  put  the  key  in  your  pocket ; 
but  this  is  what  1  have  done  to  gain  some  knowledge.  I 
have  read  that  paper  idol  of  yours  from  beginning  to  end- 
ing, from  Genesis  to  Revelation,  yes,  every  word;  and 
what  is  it  ?  But  a  mere  scrap  book  from  our  ancient  creed. 
Now,  have  you  ever  read  our  Vedas  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  replied  the  bishop.  "  But, 
dame,  a  discussion  of  this  kind  is  unseemly ;  you  are  too 
positive  in  your  error." 

"Am  I  ?  And  what  has  yours  been  so  far  but  a  life  of 
viloness  and  pretension  ?  You  tell  me  I  cannot  live  long; 
but  hear  me.  Old  as  I  am,  I  shall  survive  you ;  your  days 
will  soon  be  numbered."  Here  the  bishop's  check  was  seen 
to  blanch.  "You  tell  mo  that  I  have  practised  on  the 
credulous,  and  have  taken  from  the  poor;  yet,  poi»r  as  I 


T 


164 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


n 


n  u 


i 


i4 


am,  the  little  which  I  have  privately  given  might  count 
equal  to  your  own  ostentatious  alms.  But  on  whose  cre- 
dulity havQ  you  practised  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ? 
Is  not  your  trade  a  deception,  only  submitted  to  because 
it  is  popular  here  in  Europe  ?  You  are  servile  to  a  myth 
because  it  brings  you  money ;  and  servile  priests  have 
made  a  servile  people.  If  I  have,  as  you  say,  taken  money 
from  the  poor,  whether  I  have  given  value  or  not  is  best 
known  to  those  who  have  dealt  with  me.  But  what  have 
you  given  to  rich  or  to  poor  for  what  you  have  taken  for 
your  soothsaying  ?  What  a  wolfish  conscience  you  have 
to  accept  the  pile  of  gold  that  you  get  every  year,  while 
thousands  of  your  fellow  creatures,  even  more  worthy  than 
you,  are  houseless  and  starving ;  but  I've  been  only  acoia- 
raon  fortune  teller.  What  were  your  prophets  but  such, 
whose  predictions  have  never  yet  been  fulfilled  ?  Ah, 
Thomas  Sumpter,  apostolic  knave,  I  know  you  well,  and 
all  the  conscience  or  honor  that  you  ever  possessed  might 
be  hidden  in  a  poppy  flower." 

"Now  you  deal  in  falsehoods,"  quickly  retorted  the 
Bishop,  getting  rather  angry.  *'  Woman  I  know  you  not ; 
you  know  nothing  of  me." 

"  Do  I  not  ?  I  know  you  and  all  your  race.  Do  I  not 
know  those  hireling  expounders  of  godliness,  whose  ob- 
trusive cunning  stalks  about  in  the  guise  of  simplicity  ? 
Whose  cupidity  is  fed  by  the  ostentatious  doling  out  of 
pence  to  the  poor  in  the  presence  of  the  wealthy ;  who  rail 
against  riches  in  order  to  become  rich,  who  pray  for  hu- 
mility in  order  to  obtain  power,  who  are  weak-kneed  whore 
there  is  danger,  and  formidable  where  there  is  no  foe,  and 
who  are  sycophantic  to  tyrants,  and  arrogant  to  the 
oppressed  ?  O  ye  meek  wolves !  ye  affectionate  vultures ! 
O,  ye  would  be  lords  of  heaven  and  of  earth,  what  a  world 
this  would-be  were  ye  possessed  of  unlimited  power  ?  " 

"  Vile  woman,  your  mouth  should  be  stopped,"  exclaim- 
ed the  bishop. 

"Ay,  that's  your  i)lan ;  that's  your  favorite  mode  of 
uvj^uiucnt ;  but  you  can't  stop  mo.    I  know  ye  too  well,  yo 


THR  HKATnKNS  OF  THE  RKATH. 


tit  count 
lose  cre- 
do] ng  ? 
because 
>  a  myth 
it3  have 
ainoiiey 
t  is  best 
at  have 
iken  for 
3U  have 
r,  while 
hy  than 
Y  a  coiu- 
Lit  such, 
?     Ah, 
ell,  and 
I  might 

;ed  the 
ou  not ; 

o  I  not 
3se  ob- 
licity  ? 
out  of 
ho  rail 
'or  hu- 
whoro 
>e,  and 
to  the 
tures 1 
world 
?" 
elaim- 

>dG  of 
11,  yo 


canting  hypocrites  wlio  rovol  in  deceit.  I  know  ye,  placid 
schemers,  who  proclaim  toleration,  yet  fiercely  persecute, 
who  denounce  slavery,  yet  keep  the  mind  in  bwndage.  O, 
ye  proud-unassuming,  ye  humble-arrogant  knaves,  yc 
RlH^cious  frauds  that  feed  man  upon  myths  which  many  of 
yourselves  reject!  O,  ye  race  of  soi»histical,  consecra- 
ted impostors,  where  would  jirogress  be  if  left  to  yom* 
control?  see  what  confusion  you  have  wrought  by  your 
creeds  and  confessions;  see  what  you  have  done  by  your 
prayers  and  your  pretensions.  O,  ye  living  lies  that  hoard 
up  gold  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  and  that  neglect  black 
crime  in  your  own  country  to  preach  repentance  in  for- 
eign lands.  O,  ye  beggars,  ye  plotters,  ye  pretenders  ye 
evil  angels,  see  what  a  wreck  ye  have  altogether  raado  of 
this  beautiful  world !    I  know  ye !  " 

"Infamous,  unscrupulous  woman,"  retorted  hia  lord- 
ship, "you  are  a  defamer;  you  know  nothing  of  us,  you 
know  not  one  present,  not  one."  and  now  the  heightening 
color  flushed  the  bishop's  face. 

Zingari  fixed  her  black  eye  on  him  for  a  moment  and 
then  slowly  said:  "Viper,  I  know  you  too  well— perhaps 
you  think  that  like  yourself  I  have  forgotten  Agnes." 

"Woman,"  said  he,  now  startled  and  angry,  "you  are 
an  impostor,  a  vile  wretch,  you  never  saw  her  face— never 
—I  know  not  of  whom  you  speak." 

"Do  you  not?"  replied  she  calmly,  "Look  there  and 
see  if  you  can  recognize  any  one."  Zingari  then  walk- 
ed slowly  to  the  carriage;  she  extended  her  right  arm 
so  as  to  bring  her  hand  within  ten  or  twelve  inches  of  the 
bishop's  face,  this  hand  was  partly  doubled  in  order  to 
hold  a  small  circulot"  mirror  of  polished  steel  or  silver, 
about  the  size  of  a  crown  piece;  the  face  of  this  little 
mirror  was  slightly  convex,  and  when  she  presented  it  to 
the  bishop  it  had  a  dim  appearance,  similar  to  that  which 
the  breath  might  produce  on  a  polished  surface.  The 
bishop's  eyes  seemed  to  rest  involuntarily  on  the  mirror; 
presently  in  the  center  of  it  a  bright  spot  appeared 
which  grew  slowly  larger  and  larger  until  it  neared  the 


106 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


:-  I 


:|| 


1 

t 

1 

r'      i 

1 

L      1 

1    ^  \ 

n 

[( 


edge  of  tho  mirror,  and  then  the  bishop's  gazo  became 
intense  when  he  saw  what  seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of 
the  face  of  a  beautiful  gypsy  girl,  whose  ago  might  be 
about  twenty  years.  The  face  had  a  very  wan,  sad  expres- 
sion, and  at  tho  lower  corner  of  each  side  of  the  mouth, 
there  seemed  to  be  veritable  little  blood  marks;  and 
though  the  bishop  would  have  fain  withdrawn  his  eyes, 
he  still  gazed  and  now  actually  shuddered. 

"That's  a  fraud— another  of  your  impositions,"  crie<l 
out  Parson  Rockett  who  sat  beside  the  bishop,  "  I  can  soo 
nothing,  neither  can  any  one  else,"  and  the  angry  rector 
snatched  ihe  mirror,  and  with  a  hasty  fling  tried  to  sond 
it  far  into  tiiS  brushwood  where  it  never  should  be  found. 
He  then  turned  a  defiant  look  upon  the  old  gypsy  woman, 
and  was  himself  amazed  to  see  her  now  standing  a  few 
feet  distant,  and  holding  out  in  full  view  before  all,  tho 
very  mirror  which  he  fancied  he  had  just  thrown  to  a  great 
distance. 

"This  doesn't  part  from  us  as  easily  as  you  imagine," 
said  Zingari  still  holding  out  the  mirror.  "If  I  am  an 
impostor,  you  will  admit  that  my  sleight-of-hand  is  such 
as  you  do  not  often  witness." 

Though  the  bishop  sat  silent  and  evidently  subdued, 
the  rector  of  Betnall  grew  now  more  interested,  and  tried 
to  believe  that  in  his  excitement  he  had  failed  to  get  hold 
of  the  mirror,  and  he  demanded  that  it  should  be  placed 
in  his  hands  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  all  that  he  could 
send  it  beyond  the  reach  of  its  owner. 

"One  trial  must  answer,"  said  Zinguri,  "  beware  how 
you  make  an  another  attempt." 

"Just  what  I  expected  you  would  do  if  put  to  the  test," 
shouted  Mr.  Rockett.  Two  or  more  of  the  clergymen  now 
asked  to  see  the  mirror.  She  held  her  hand  before  the 
face  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Morton  the  rector  of  Pendell,  but  tho 
surface  of  the  mirror  was  quite  dim.  "There  is  nothing 
for  you  at  present,"  said  Zingari,  "there  may  be  if  you 
ever  see  it  again." 

"Ay,  J  aee  how  it  is,"  cried  Mr.  Morton,  "a  downright 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


167 


how 


deception !  You  have  imposed  on  his  lordship  as  you  havo 
on  most  others.  You  work  on  people's  imagination,  and 
ou  their  fears." 

Zinj^ari  made  no  reply,  and  as  Mr.  Meade  the  curate  of 
Pendell,  stood  close  to  her  she  bade  him  look.  The 
mirror  was  at  tirst  dim,  then  it  became  clear  as  it  did  for 
the  bishop,  and  lo,  the  curate  was  amazed  to  see  the  very 
likeness  of  his  son  who  was  in  India,  and  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  years. 

"  Well,  is  that  a  deception  ?"  she  enquired. 

Mr.  Meade  felt  rather  timid  to  make  an  acknowledge- 
ment after  what  his  rector  had  asserted. 

"I  cannot  say  that  it  is,"  replied  he  in  a  hesitating 
manner. 

"  And  yet  now  you  are  afraid  to  say  so,"  said  Zingari. 
"How  like  you  are  to  those  others;  just  as  Christian 
priests  always  do,  for  while  they  shout  for  truth,  they  are 
every  reauy  to  deijy  its  claims  should  it  come  into  conflict 
with  their  preconceived  notions." 

The  silence  of  the  curate  seemed  to  be  an  admission  of 
the  truth  of  wiiat  she  had  said.  "  You  know  the  face 
then?" 

*'  I  do,"  answered  Mr.  Meade. 

"Well,  then,"  she  continued,  "  you  have  got  another  at 
home,  but  be  watchful  of  your  bird,  for  there's  a  hawk 
around  your  dwelling  that  would  do  it  harm,"  and  she 
gave  a  signilleant  glance  at  the  rector  of  Pendell. 

"You  would  have  him  your  dupe  also  I  see,"  uttered 
Mr.  Morton  hastily.  "  There,"  said  he  throwing  her  a 
small  silver  piece,  don't  fail  this  time— perhaps  you  can 
do  better  at  fortune  telling." 

Zingari  took  no  notice  of  the  money,  but  asked  him 
what  he  particularly  wanted  to  know. 

"Well,  you  havo  predicted  the  death  of  his  lordship— a 
shrewd  guess  by  the  by,  seeing  th..  wo  are  not  all  immor- 
tal like  yourself— but  after  that  what  is  to  happen  ?" 

"  Oh,  his  lordship's  great  funeral,  of  course,"  replied 
Zingari. 


** 

1 

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'  1 

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11 


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168 


THE  HE/\TIIKNH  OF  THE   HEATH. 


"  Cai)ital !"  said  Mr.  Morton  affoctiiiK  to  laugh,  "  capital 
guessing,  as  bishops  aro  always  certain  to  have  groat 
funerals.  What  a  wonderful  soeress  to  predict  what  slio 
knows  is  going  to  hai)pen." 

"Just  as  your  greatest  so-called  prophets  have  always 
done,"  she  retorted. 

"Ay,  woman,  but  after  all  they  gave  us  some  shrewd 
particulars ;  try  your  hand  in  that  line ;  say,  for  instance, 
who  are  to  be  the  pall  bearers." 

'*  You  will  not  be  one,"  she  quickly  replied. 

"Well,  shall  I  not  be  among  the  mourners  ?  " 

"No,"  said  she,  "  not  unless  you  yourself  rise  from  tho 
grave,  which  is  scarcely  probable." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Morton  tried  to  laugh  at  this  capital  joke, 
but  somehow  the  laugh  stuck  in  his  throat,  yet  he  contin- 
ued, as  if  unabashed : 

"  O,  of  course  you  always  like  to  bury  those  who  are  not 
your  dupes.  Well,  won't  you  promise^ me  a  stately  fun- 
eral?" 

"  No,  not  even  the  burial  of  a  pauper,  for  you  will  never 
need  a  coffin." 

At  this  the  rector  of  Pondeil,  in  spite  of  his  affected 
indifference,  was  really  startled. 

"Here,  you  old  Jezebel!"  now  shouted  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Rockett,  "  you  have  quickly  disposed  of  one  bishop  and 
one  rector;  save  your  favors  for  others;  there  are  three 
or  four  more  of  us  here,  yet.  I  suppose  I  shall  die  also— 
what  then  ?    Don't  hurry  me  off  too  soon." 

"Ah,  you  think  that  would  bo  a  safe  prediction  for  me," 
said  Zingari.  "  Well,  we  will  not  hurry  you  off,  you  will 
survive  the  other  two,  but  die  you  must ;  aye,  unexpectedly 
before  your  time." 

"Well,  but  you  will  bury  me  decently,  won't  you?" 
inquired  he  in  a  mocking  tone." 

"Bury  you?  ah  me,  no!  You  will  have  no  coffin,  you 
will  have  no  funeral— for  you  will  never  need  even  a 
grave." 


/'capital 
ivo  great 
what  sho 

ve  always 

e  slirowd 
instance, 


from  tho 

ital  joke, 
e  contin- 

o  are  not 
tely  fun- 
ill  never 
affected 

lev.  Mr. 

lop  and 
e  three 
e  also— 

or  me," 
'^ou  will 
»ectedly 

you?" 

In,  you 
even  a 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  SAINTS. 


A  S  soon  as  John  Valiant  had  made  arrangements  for  tho 
-^^  restoration  of  the  old  Manor  House,  for  the  improve- 
ment of  the  land  and  cottages  on  the  Heath,  and  for  tho 
present  employment  and  benefit  of  the  poor  inhabitants 
on  that  portion  of  his  estate,  he  resumed  his  search  after 
his  son ;  and  he  landed  in  Ireland  during  the  first  day  of 
J  uly  determined  to  make  a  thorough  search  in  that  country 
in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  return  either  accompanied  by 
the  object  of  his  solicitude  or  posessed  of  some  certain 
knowledge  concerning  him.  During  the  few  months  of 
his  stay  in  England,  ho  liad  made  inquiries  not  only  at 
the  several  Mission  Houses,  but  in  many  other  places, 
and  he  had  also  employed  trusty  agents  to  try  and  gain 
such  information  as  might  be  most  likely  to  render  his 
journey  successful.  Any  way,  though  still  much  depressed 
the  news  he  had  obtained  through  certain  sources,  enabl- 
ed him  to  start  afresh  more  hopeful  than  he  had  been  for 
many  a  day. 

Were  a  person  desirous  of  tracing  out  on  a  map  of  the 
world,  a  land  that  had  been  devastated  by  religious  strife, 
and  still  cursed  by  the  demon  of  religious  discord,  ho 
might  look  through  Asia,  that  primitive  source  of  relig- 
ious ideas,  he  might  enter  India  and  course  along  tho 
Indus,  or  the  Ganges,  and  thence  through  China  and 
Japan,  and  find  men  worshiping  at  different  altars,  or 
bowing  before  different  shrines,  and  yet  not  be  inclined  to 


170 


TIIK  HEATHENS  Ol'  THE   HEATH. 


i 


II 


rl    ' 


liato  or  harass  one  another  because  that  Brahma,  or 
liuddha,  orChristna,  or  some  other  deity,  was  the  object 
of  adoration.  He  woukl  find  that  the  maxims  of  Confucius 
inculcated  a  reverence  for  the  reli^'ious  oi)inions  of  straiij;- 
ers  ;*  and  that  even  in  Africa,  where  it  is  said  the  greatest 
superstition  still  abounds,  not  one  of  the  ancient  temples 
or  vast  structures  whicli  stud  the  course  of  the  Nile, 
and  indicate  tiie  past  greatness  of  Egyi)t,  was  ever  erect- 
ed to  serve  as  an  Inquisition.  In  tliese  so-called  be- 
nighted lands'where  the  great  majority  of  manliind— the 
still  unchristianized— are  huddled  together,  or  classitied 
into  castes,  the  powerful  and  prevailing  influence  of 
Paganism  has  ever  been  averse  to  religious  i>er,secution  ; 
and  not  until  the  inquirer  lias  passed  into  Euroi)e,  not 
until  lie  has  entered  the  very  stronghold  of  that  superior 
Faitli  for  which  is  claimed  every  excellence,  not  until  he 
has  reached  lands  eminently  Cliriiatian,  can  he  truly  dis- 
cover the  terrible  effects  of  bigotry  and  religious  persecu- 
tion. 

Strange  that  this  should  be  tlie  <'ase,  but  history  will 
not  belie  the  assertion.  Look  at  the  mai).  Oli !  what  a 
contrast  between  Pagan  liouie  in  the  Augustan  age,  and 
papal  Rome  under  a  Gregory,  an  Alexander,  or  an  Inno- 
cent! See  Spain,  almost  wholly  devoted  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  degraded  by  its  intolerance,  and  its 
Inquisition ;  and  the  government  miserably  enfeebled  by 
the  dictation  of  priests.  Portugal  is  much  in  the  same 
condition.  France  has  been  rendered  restless  and  revolu- 
tionary, as  much  perhaps  by  its  bigoted,  intermeddling 
ecclesiastics,  as  by  its  intriguing  rulers,  or  its  insignificant 

•  •'  Among  tho  Chinese  it  is  customary  to  ask,  '  To  what  sublime 
rolifjion  do  you  belong?'  One  perhaps  will  call  himself  a  Confucia- 
nist,  another  a  Boodhist,  a  third  a  disciple  of  Lao-tze,  a  fourtli  a  fol- 
lower of  Mohammed,  of  whom  there  are  many  in  China,*nd  then 
every  one  begins  to  pronounf'e  a  panegyric  on  the  religion  to  which 
he  docs  not  belong,  as  politeness  re<iuircs ;  after  which  tliey  all  repeat 
in  i'hoTUH,' Pow-town-Kiao,  loidH-lif,  n^ligions  am  many ;  reason  Js 
one ;  we  arc  all  brothers.'  This  phrase  is  on  the  lips  of  every  Chinese, 
and  they  bandy  it  from  one  to  the  other  with  the  most  exuuisito  ur- 
buaity,"— Hue's  Journey  through  the  Chinese  empire,  Cap.  V. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  UEATU, 


171 


blime 
fucia- 

a  fol- 
1  then 
which 

epcat 
son  Js 

nose, 
to  ur- 


rts. 


minority  of  Huguenots.  Austria,  and  Italy,  have  just  bo^un 
to  SCO  tluit  the  antiquated  notion  of  a  one  true  cliurch 
has  left  them  far  behind  in  the  mareh  of  improvenu'ut; 
and  that  toleration  is  at  last  nei-essary.  If  this  idea  of  a 
"  one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism,  and  one  true  chureh  " 
so  steadfastly  adhered  to  in  countries  exclusively  Konuin 
Catholic,  has  produced  such  degeneration,  how  is  It  in  a 
country  where  Protestants  and  Catholics,  come  into  dread 
conflict;  where  a  so-called  heretical  faith  lias  been  urged 
on  the  majority,  where  wrangling  Protestant  sects  oidy 
truly  unite  in  hostility  to  the  i)apal  Church  and  where 
added  to  this  hostility  political  and  national  wrongs  tend 
to  aggravate  and  peri)etuate  the  hatred  that  has  already 
existed  for  centuries  ?  Now  where  in  a  map  of  this  wido 
world  can  a  land  be  found  so  cursed  and  blighted  ? 

There  is  a  beautiful  island  in  the  Atlantic,  long  renown- 
ed for  its  uiAJestie  mountains,  its  lovely  valleys,  its  romantic 
glens,  its  splendid  lakes,  its  pleasant  rivers,  and  its  clear 
streams,  A  fair  island,  as  if  nature  had  been  determined 
to  exhibit  an  epitome  of  its  richness  and  beauty,  a  green 
spot  raised  in  the  midst  of  the  blue  wves,  with  glorious 
scenery,  fertile  soil,  and  a  healthful  climate;  with  verdant 
slopes,  with  rocks,  roses,  and  waterfalls,  and  every  attrac- 
tion to  make  it  an  earthly  paradise;  and  yet  this  very 
island  richly  endcfwed  as  it  is  by  the  great  munificent 
Hand,  has  been  made  nearly  desolate  by  man  ;  and  relig- 
ious and  political  strife  has  swept  through  it,  and  over  it 
like  a  very  besom  of  destruction.  This  island  so  beauti- 
ful, so  blighted,  and  so  bereft;  this  land,  such  a  reproach 
to  its  Popes,  and  potentates,  this  arena  of  fearful  i)ious 
and  political  discord,  can  alas!  be  traced  out  on  the  map 
RS— Ireland. 

This  then  was  the  country  to  which  John  Valiant  had 
determined  to  proceed.  He  landed  in  Dublin  and  remained 
in  the  city  for  a  day  or  two  with  an  old  friend  whom  ho 
had  known  in  India.  This  person  who  was  in  an  olllcial 
lu)si;ion  in  the  I risli  capital  gave  him  much  information 
as  to  the  condition  of  the  country,  the  habits  of  the  people, 


i: 


172 


THE  HKATIIKNH  OF  TIIK   IIBATH. 


^1? 


4 


1 


J! 


•If 


nn»l  what  woro  thouKht  to  bo  the  nmin  cttusos  of  tho  con- 
tinued (liscoiitciit  of  th*  f^rcut  nuijority  of  the  inhabitants. 
Iroland  was  Htill  V(>ry  much  disturbed;  tho  chronic  state 
of  roboliion  in  whicli  it  had  l)oon  for  centuries,  still 
rc(iuir«;d  tho  presence  of  a  iarj?e  number  of  troops,  and 
lliese,  with  priests,  parsons,  and  policemen,  and  numerous 
ra^'ged,  hungry  looking  creatures  wandering  through  tho 
streets  were  tho  most  common  and  striking  objects  that 
mot  tho  eye  of  a  stranger.  How  different  from  what  one 
should  exi)ect!  Here  was  a  land  which  might  be  tho 
happy  home  of  millions,  but  from  which  thousands  annu- 
ally rush  as  if  from  a  plague  stricken  country— it  is  a 
stricken  country— it  has  been  blighted  by  sectarian  strife; 
and  in  every  phase  of  misfortune  that  has  befallen  this 
unhappy  island,  religious  plotting,  and  religious  discord 
can  be  traced  as  tho  root  of  the  evil.  Here  for  a  long 
period  was  a  pampered  State  Church— now  happily  dis- 
established—rei)resenting  but  a  fraction  of  the  population, 
yet  reveling  in  wealth  and  pretension ;  which  for  long 
years,  and  in  its  palmiest  days,  was  rapacious  enough  to 
exact  tithes  from  the  great  bulk  of  the  inhabitants  who 
were  of  a  hostile  belief— the  Roman  Catholic  majority, 
then,  and  still,  the  most  destitute  class  of  Irish— and  on 
whom  it  tried,  often  by  the  vilest  means,  to  force  a  detested 
creed,  a  church  which  would  still  continue  to  exact  the 
last  penny  from  the  very  people  who  hated  its  doctrines, 
were  it  not  for  the  cry  of,  "  shame,  shame,"  which  startled 
at  last  even  an  indolent  majority  in  the  British  Parliament 
to  a  sense  of  simple  justice.  And  then,  when  this  very 
church  was  deprived  of  this  infamous  right  to  directly 
assess  Irish  Roman  Catholics,  (as  it  has  assessed  Irish  and 
English  Dissenters,)  as  a  proof  of  its  reliance  on  Provi- 
dence, its  pusillanimous  meanings— such  as  it  lately  gave 
upon  its  disestablishment  in  Ireland— were  heard  through- 
out the  land,  as  if  it  had  been  forsaken  by  God  and  man. 
But  though  tho  Catholics  had  declaimed  long  and  loud 
to  a  Protestant  clergy  against  the  oppression  of  tithes  one 
might  assert  that  this  affliction  was  but  retributive ;  for 


^ 


1- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  BEAtH. 


173 


Ihoir  own  Church  clalnuul  tiihos,  wlthoui  rt-iuorse,  In 
every  country  over  whUh  It  had  control ;  anJ  roi»e  Inno- 
cent III.  was  among  the  llrst  to  esiuljli.sh  this  odious  Jew- 
ish lax  on  all  alike  In  England ;  and  his  decretal  was,  of 
course,  equally  authoritative  In  Ireland.  The  English 
Htutf*  Church,  however,  such  as  It  was,  and  such  as  It  is, 
was  but  a  partial  evil  in  the  land.  The  Reman  Catholics 
had,  and  still  have,  a  much  more  oppressive  burden  In  the 
support  of  the  ostentatious  form  of  faith  to  which  they 
are  so  devotedly  attached.  If  Ireland  has  not  been  the 
actual  flower  garden  of  the  llonuin  Church,  it  has  cer- 
tainly been  its  kitchen  garden,  and  while  the  numerous 
hlerarchs  of  the  Popedom  have  flourished  and  fattened 
among  an  impoverished  people,  *hey  have  made  those 
same  people—the  Roman  Catholic  Irish— their  veriest 
slaves.  The  Irish  Catholic  bishops,  though  ever  ready  to 
talk  in  lofty  strains  about  I'utrlotlsm,  have  never  yet  been 
too  faithful  to  their  own  tiountry.  They  declaim  against 
England,  yet  are  willing  to  accept  her  gold  and  her  favors, 
as  if  their  rights;  they  are  willing  that  the  Irish  race 
should  remain  moderately  turbulent— a  thorn  in  the  fore- 
finger of  Britain ;  they  are  willing  to  denounce  "Saxon  " 
schools,  and  "Saxon  "  innovations,  and  "Saxon"  civiliza- 
tion, but  yet  would  be  among  the  first  to  prevent  the  peo- 
ple, whom  they  had  gradually  trained  to  believe,  that 
resistance  to  tyrants  was  a  duty,  from  the  commission  of 
an  overt  act,  though  that  very  act  should  secure  for  all 
their  fancied  political  liberty.  Rome  has  ever  been  almost 
idolized  by  the  Irish  priesthood  ;  and  Rome,  the  fanatic, 
that  would  prevent  a  Protestant  Bible,  a  Protestant  church, 
or  even  a  Protestant  cemetery  from  being  within  Its  holy 
boundaries,*  is  exalted  as  the  model  of  truth  and  pro- 
priety for  all  nations ;  and  though  those  same  Irish  bishops 
well  know  that  the  submission  of  "their  country  to  Eng- 
land is  the  result  of  the  machinations  of  a  veritable  Pope, 
(Adrian  IV.,)  still,  as  if  oblivious  of  this  fact,  the  whole 


'  Bee  Note  8, 


I 


174 


THE  HEATIIENH  OF  THE  HEATH. 


i 


•  £  i 

I' 


fearful  story  is  not  told,  but  the  entire  blame  is  placed  on 
others,  or  thrown  u|»on  the  shoulders  of  the  hated  Saxon. 

Alas  for  this  poor  Island !  the  rule  of  priests  has  secured 
for  it  an  unhappy  notoriety ;  and  traces  of  their  degener- 
ating pway  can  be  seen  in  the  faces  of  too  many  of  its 
people.  After  centuries  of  ecclesiastical  domination,  igno- 
rance and  superstition  prevail;  the  Irish  are  no  longer 
the  teachers,  the  poets  and  the  musioians  of  Europe ;  their 
bards  are  ail  but  forgotten,  and  their  harp  almost  silent. 
01  what  have  hostile  creeds  and  blind  faiths  done  for 
Ireland  ?  What  have  mitres,  and  crosiers,  and  spangles, 
and  lawn,  and  consecrated  gew-^aws  and  trumpery.  Cath- 
olic and  Protestant,  wrought  for  this  creed-cursed  country? 

Such  were  the  Ideas  that  prevailed  In  the  mind  of  John 
Valiant  respecting  Ireland  ;  he  could  form  no  other  con- 
clusion than  that  this  land  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much,  had  been  deplorably  misgoverned  for  centuries; 
and  that,  though  the  government  had  of  late  years,  been 
honestly  trying  to  better  the  condition  of  the  country, 
almost  every  effort  In  this  direction  had  been  intorftTcd 
with  by  the  clergy,  principally  by  those  of  Rome.  The 
recital  of  the  political  sulTerings  of  Ireland  must  still  go 
on ;  every  wound  must  be  made  to  bleed  afresh,  and  the 
persecuted  Church  of  I1I3  Holiness  must  be  exalted  as  the 
greatest  of  martyrs,  as  If  the  persecutions  of  heresy  were 
not  vastly  more  cruel  and  extensive  than  all  others.  No, 
nothing  should  be  forgotten  by  Catholic  priests  ;  the  past 
should  never  die— they  would  never  see  a  single  hope ;  but 
while  England  rulcMl,  the  bleak  future  was  to  be  ushered 
In,  surrounded  by  the  blackest  thunder  clouds,  as  If  omU 
nous  of  continued  disasters  for  their  unhappy  island. 

As  it  was,  Mr.  Valiant  found  that  the  people  were 
divided  into  sects  and  parties  too  prejudiced  to  reason,  and 
too  nnu'h  under  the  subjection  of  priestly  rulers,  vo  dare 
think  for  themselves;  and,  from  what  he  saw,  he  could 
not  help  believing  tliat  If  It  had  been  the  policy  of  those 
in  authority,  civil  and  religious,  to  create  disunion  and  to 
engender  strife  among  a  naturally  kind  and  generoiis  peo- 


-H 

■3' 


1 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


175 


Placed  on 
d  Saxon, 
s  secured 
degener- 
ny  of  its 
on,  igno- 

0  longer 
?e ;  their 
it  silent, 
lone  for 
pangles, 
y,  Oath- 
sou  n  try? 
of  John 
^er  con- 
oard  so 
nturies; 
rs,  boi>n 
[onntry, 

orfcrcil 
0.  Tho 
still  go 
md  tho 

1  as (ho 
iy  woro 
s.  No, 
le  past 
)o;  hut 
shoii  d 
if  omi- 
d. 

3  were 
►n,  and 
o  dtiro 

could 

those 
and  to 
IS  peo- 


ple, thfv  had  only  boou  too  suooossful.  He  found  that 
alter  prayers  and  ponaltips,  after  blessings  and  oxcommu- 
nictitions,  after  a  lavish  distiibution  of  Vets  an<l  Epis- 
.tles."and  acts  of  Parliament,  that  Ireland  was  still  vol- 
canic, still  ejecting  its  destructive  lava,  flinging  its  burn'ng 
s.'oria  far  and  near,  an<l  often  rendering  even  noon-day 
dismal  with  its  smoke,  its  ashes,  and  its  deadly  vapors. 

It  was  a  gala  day  in  Belfast,  a  great  number  of  people 
had  assembled  in  the  city;  fU'Cs  were  suspended  in  differ- 
ent i^laces;  several  vessels  at  the  quays  had  hoisted  an 
ujiustial  (piantity  of  bunting,  and  gaudy  banners  floated 
in  the  genial  air  over  certain  buildings,  and  a  few  hung 
gently  ruffled  even  from  some  of  the  highest  steeples. 
Shouting  bojs  (llsi)laying  blue  and  yellow  ribbons  tramp- 
ed here  and  there  through  the  streets;  and  men,  women, 
and  children  wandered  about  as  if  bent  ui»on  exhibiting 
ribbons  of  the  same  kind  tied  around,  or  fastened  to  hats, 
('ai>s,  and  bonnets.  Even  most  of  the  sedate,  respectable 
business  men  as  they  went  along  wore  a  little  of  this  yel- 
low or  blue  ribbon  in  a  button  hole,  and  thi  yellow,  or 
rather  the  orange  color,  seemed  on  this  particular  day  to 
bo  80  prized  by  u,!!,  that  few  ]iersons  could  be  seen  who 
had  not  from  a  finger's  length  to  a  yard  or  two  of  this  kind 
of  ribbon  fastened  to  coat  or  hat,  as  if  it  were  a  token  of 
some  di:iiln  tion.  On  ordinary  occasions  the  chief  town 
of  Protost^tnt  Ulster  might  be  a  model  of  sobriety  and 
<pil(>ia,sg,  baton  this  day,  although  it  was  yet  the  early 
forenoon,  a  more  rampant,  noisy  number  of  peoi)le  could 
hardly  be  got  together;  and  it  is  (piestionable  w^hether 
strict  sobriety  could  have  engendered  tho  wanton  enthu- 
siasm which  app(>ared  to  control  nearly  all.  Many  seem- 
ed to  act  as  if  there  had  been  grante*!  a  special  license  to 
be  as  boisterous  and  as  unruly  as  jiossible;  and  many 
others  went  strutting  about  with  defiant  look  and  rude 
bearing,  as  it  anxious  to  discover  an  opponent  on  whom 
to  exhibit  ai>propriate  vengj'ance.  lo  make  things  more 
(!onfused,  other  noises  besides  loud  shouting  were  almost 
continuo\is.     Snots  were   heard   within  the  respectable 


176 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


111". 


; 


corporiitlon  boun<laiics  of  the  city;  lire  crackt^rs  ruttloil 
ou  the  streots,  and  on  house  toi)s  ;  the  constant  rat-a-tat- 
tat  of  little  drums  was  deafning,  and  that  which  was 
required  to  complete  the  most  bewildering  disorder  was 
produced  by  shrieking  fifes,  whistles,  and  tin  trumpets, 
blown  in  every  direction  by  boys  whose  puffed  cheeks  gave 
evidence  of  a  determination  to  make  the  most  ear-piercing 
sounds  from  the  most  insignificant  of  instruments, 

A  short  time  before  mid-day  the  Dublin  train  reached 
the  Belfast  station ;  there  were  many  passengers,  several 
of  whom  rejoiced  not  cmly  in  a  profuaion  of  blue  and  yel- 
low ribbons,  but  who  also  wore  peculiar  shaped  orange 
collars,  and  a  few  men  wore  a  kind  of  red  gown  which  ^rave 
them  a  most  absurd  and  slovenly  appearance.  One  indi- 
vidual, apparently  some  kind  of  a  leader  or  official,  be- 
sides wearing  ribbons,  a  collar,  and  a  rich  scarf,  had  also 
two  or  three  medals  fastened  on  his  breast.  He  was  a 
stout,  low-sized  man,  with  a  short  neck,  a  florid  face,  and 
something  of  the  vulgar  bully  in  his  appearance.  Indeed 
at  first  view,  one  even  reasonably  skilled  in  physiognomy 
might  wonder  how  such  a  man  could  do  any  act  tlui  would 
to  entitle  him  to  weir  any  medal  other  than  one  of  the 
most  poisonous  brass;  but  like  other  (so-called  heroes) 
he  might  have  won  them  becaune  he  was  a  partizan  who 
could  be  reckless  and  inhuman  against  political  or  relig- 
ious opponents.  He  had  evidently  been  expected,  for 
when  the  cars  stopped,  a  crowd  of  men  variously  bedizen- 
ed awaited  his  arrival,  and  when  he  stepped  from  the  car 
a  loud  shout  rent  the  air,  irregular  shots  were  fired,  little 
drums  rattled,  Hags  were  waved  about  in  the  wildest  man- 
ner, and  two  or  three  bands  struck  up  a  medley  of  tunes, 
producing  iipot  pourri  which  to  a  musical  ear  was  simply 
destiacting. 

After  a  little  delay  this  distinguished  visitor,  who  prov- 
ed to  be  a  "deputy  grand"  something  among  the  Irish 
Orangemen,  entered  a  carriage  with  three  other  persona, 
a  long  procicssion  was  formed,  the  ban<l8  struck  up  again, 
banners  were  again  waved,  and  the  cortege  moved  off  from 


I 


3 


¥      ^ 


TBE  tttl-VlHENS  OP  DUE  ttEATlt. 


177 


prov- 
Irish 
sona, 
igain, 
from 


the  station.  This  was  the  great  12th  of  Juiy,  a  day  moro 
sacred  to  many  Orangeiuen  tlian  our  Christmas  is  to 
Christians.  The  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  the  Boyne 
was  again  to  be  celebrated.  King\»illiam  on  horseback 
—the  Orange  idol—was  once  more  to  be  flaunted  before 
the  eyes  of  the  incensed  Catholics;  an  old  feud  was  to  bo 
offensively  brought  to  remembrance,  aided  even  by  some 
who  claimed  to  be  distinguished  as  ministers  of  a  religion 
of  peace ;  and  Protestantism  here  was  again  about  to  raise 
its  triumphant  head  in  i>rou<l  disdain  I'ur  Poi»e  and  popery, 
ready  to  pray  for  the  conversion  of  the  dupes  of  that  sys- 
tem, or  perhaps  more  ready  to  consign  them  to  infamy; 
willing  that  the  country  should  be  purged  of  their  pres- 
ence, and  that  Providence  might  bo  further  honored  and 
glorified,  in  their  complete  ])anishmont  or  annihilation. 

Mr.  Valiant  who  had  arrived  at  Belfast  by  the  same 
train,  was  rather  suri)rised  at  this  singular  demonstration. 
He  waited  quietly  at  the  station  until  nearly  all  luul 
departed;  and,  as  every  vehicle  in  waiting  had  rolled 
away  hurriedly  filled,  he  threw  his  light  overcoat  across 
his  arn.,  and  carrying  a  small  valise,  took  his  way  leisure- 
ly towards  the  principal  hotel.  As  he  went  along  he  dis- 
covered that,  for  some  reason,  he  was  the  object  of  much 
questionable  attention,  and  that  notwithstanding  the 
clatter  and  the  rush  of  people  that  had  taken  place  in 
their  desire  to  keep  near  the  principal  carriage,  many  per- 
sons stood  and  stared  at  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  unbap- 
tized  native  of  the  Bandwich  Islands.  Little  Protestant 
boys— for  they  wore  the  Orange  ribbon— were  »o  rude  as 
to  yell  after  him  as  I  e  walked  on,  and  five  or  six  of  them 
followed  him  closely,  sometimes  rushing  in  front  of  him 
to  make  grimaces,  while  one  or  another  of  their  number 
would  be  violently  pushed  against  him ;  others  who  stood 
behind  kept  sho'iting,  "  papist  1  papist!  papist!" and  some 
actually  flung  mud  and  stones  at  him,  with  the  most 
lawless  intentions. 

Amazed  at  such  conduct,  and  really  astonished  that  no 
one  Interfered  to  save  a  stranger  from  insult,  John  Valiant 


m 


tnt:  ItEAtllENS  OF  TIIK  ItFATIt. 


quickened  his  pace,  and  liad  just  turned  the  corner  of  a 
street  when  he  came  face  to  face  witli  two  very  drunlcen 
rnen  who  stood  in  front  of  a  kind  of  low  tavern*  The  men 
wore  orange  collars,  and  had  a  profusion  of  blue  and 
yellow  ribbons,  and  as  soon  as  they  perceived  the  strange 
person  before  them,  for  some  imaginable  cause,  they 
rushed  forward  as  if  to  lay  hold  of  him.  By  a  dexterous 
movement,  however,  he  just  escaj^ed  their  clutches,  and 
as  he  passed  quickly  beyond  their  roach,  they  seemed  to 
grow  furious  and  between  the  stormy  oaths  and  impreca- 
tions which  they  roared  in  anger,  the  Orangemen's 
blessing,  "To  hell  with  the  Poi>e,"  could  be  distinctly 
heard  until  he  turned  down  another  street  and  disap- 
peared. Under  the  impression  that  many  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  northern  Christian  city  were  more  savage  and 
uncivilized  than  any  of  the  wildest  heathens  he  had  ever 
met  in  foreign  lands,  he  began  to  feel  anxious  to  get  to  the 
hotel.  Not  a  ijoliceman  was  in  view,  even  the  few  he  had 
seen  about  the  railroad  station  must  have  been  partisans, 
for  they  too  exhibited  a  portion  of  the  orange  in  a  button- 
hole. If  he  asked  a  question  no  one  would  give  him  a  civil 
reply ;  even  the  very  women  either  laughed  at  his  api)ar- 
cnt  discomfiture,  or  scowled  at  his  presence. 

He  made  some  inquiries  as  to  his  way  to  a  certain  i>art 
of  the  city,  but  he  must  have  been  wilfully  misdirected, 
for  ho  soon  found  himself  wandering  through  the  most 
lllthy  streets,  where  every  second  or  third  house  seemed 
to  be  a  wretched  kind  of  groggery  or  beer  shop;  and  in 
these  s<[itiilid  retreats  numbers  of  i)ooplo  had  assembled. 
Their  beverage  must,  of  course,  have  had  its  duo  effect, 
for  already  several  were  singing,  and  bawling,  and 
toasting  with  screaming  voice,  "Th«>  glorious  pious  and 
immortal  memory."  Even  here  the  Orange  flags  and 
streamers  were  again  conspicuous,  and  maudlin  men  with 
glazed  eye  and  clammy  lip,  reeled  along  the  highways 
singing  snatches  of  the"Boyne  Water,"  and  "Croppies 
Lie  Down,"  and  haltiiigocciisionally  to  look  around  an<l 
dethmtly  shout,  "To  hi  11  with  the  Pope." 


I 

■^1 


* 


L 


TUK  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


17a 


orner  of  a 
{  drunken 
The  men 
blue  and 
lie  strange 
Luse,  they 
dexterous 
tches,  and 
seemed  to 
impreca- 
nffemen's 
distinctly 
nd  disap- 
e  inhabi- 
ivage  and 
had  ever 
get  to  the 
w  he  had 
mrtisans, 
a  button- 
im  a  civil 
lis  ai>par- 

ain  part 
directed, 
he  moat 
seemed 
and  in 
semblod. 
10  effect, 
ng,  and 
ions  and 
ags  and 
len  with 
ighways 
Poppies 
Hid  and 


As  it  was,  Mr.  Valiant  felt  sonfiewhat  uneasy.  There  he 
was  apparently  in  the  most  disreputable  part  of  a  strange- 
town,  among  a  drunken,  ruffianly  set  who  were  ready  to 
insult,  or  to  lay  violent  hands  on  him  without  the  least 
provocation.  But  this  was  his  mistake;  he  had  unwit- 
tingly giving  offence;  he  had  without  his  knowledge 
exasperated  some  reckless,  excitable  men ;  and  just  as  a 
bull  might  be  made  furious  by  the  sight  of  a  red  shawl, 
the  mere  sight  of  the  light  green  silk  vest,  which  he,  John 
Valiant,  as  a  free-born  Briton,  wore  on  his  arrival  in  this 
good  Protestant  city,  and  which  so  raised  the  ire  of  certain 
of  its  pious  and  loyal  inhabitants,  had  nearly  cost  him 
his  life ;  for  the  blx  or  eight  villainous  fellows  who  now 
surrounded  him,  would  not  have  hesitated  to  commit 
any  atrocity  on  the  person  of  a  defiant  i^aptist— for 
such  they  toc^k  liini  to  be— Wf^re  it  not  for  the  prompt 
interfci'ence  of  a  gang  of  (.Catholic  workmen,  and  common 
laborers  who  jusc  hap|>eiied  to  pass  at  the  time.  They 
undtirstood  the  difllculty  at  once.  The  same  green  vest 
was  the  talisman  wliieh  awoke  their  sympathies,  and 
aroused  them  to  action;  a  tight  (piickly  ensued,  blows 
came  fast  and  heavy,  there  was  a  reninvnl  of  furious  stiifi^ 
between  the  Orange  and  tlir  (irecMi.  Tlie  Pope  was  again 
sent  to  hell— King  William  was  again  lustily  damned; 
and  Luther  and  (^alvin,  and  John  Kno^,  consinged  again 
to  llu!  bottomless  i)it.  During  the  melee,  John  Valiant, 
wlio  had  already  knocked  down  more  than  one  of  t'l  • 
aggressors,  and  who  was  (juite  willing  to  stand  by  his  new 
frien<ls,  was  forced  away  from  the  spot  by  some  of  his 
ardc^nt  admirers.  They  lookt>d  upon  him  as  being  a  brave 
champion  who  was  not  afraid  to  display  the  Green  even 
In  the  midst  of  a  vile  Orange  faction,  and  as  they  wislied 
to  see  him  .safe  they  conducted  him  to  one  oflhe  principal 
streets.  His  liberal  n^ward  was  promptly  refused;  and 
with  hearty  repetitions  of  "God  I)'c3<  your  honor," 
resounded  in  his  ears,  ho  hurried  on,  an<l  without  broken 
bones,  or  further  molestation,  soon  arrived  at  his  desired 
quarters. 


'  ill 


T" 


Hi 

tti- 

h 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


CHUISTIAN   HARMONY. 


rflHE  hotel  In  which  Mr.  Valiant  found  refuge,  was,  por- 
"■■  haps  the  principal  one  in  the  city,  and,  for  that  day 
at  least,  seemed  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  Belfast 
Orangemen,  as  well  as  fcr  the  crowd  of  that  fraternity 
which  attended  from  a  distance.  A  great  Orange  Hag 
waved  from  the  cupola  of  the  building;  a  similar  banner 
was  hung  over  the  principal  entrance ;  and  sundry  other 
flags  and  streamers,  decorated  windows,  and  fluttered 
from  conspicuous  points  of  this  particular  reruh^zvous. 
Several  lodges  of  the  brethren  stood  in  waiting  along  the 
street,  and  a  great  numljer  of  people  luid  assembled  to 
witness  another  annual  display  of  ostentatious  loyalty. 

On  his  way  to  flie  hotel,  Mr.  Valiant  iiad  to  i>ass  through 
nearly  this  entire  assemblage,  and  though  he  was  again 
stiired  at  by  many,  and  heard  muttered  remarks  about  his 
"wearing  of  the  green,"  yet  those  hereabout  were  sulTl- 
ciently  discreet  to  refrain  from  coarse  language,  and  so 
far  orderly  enough  as  to  offer  no  offense.  Besides,  the  v<;ry 
fact  of  his  having,  as  a  traveler,  <'hosen  this  resort,  satis- 
fled  many,  that  though  ho  had,  no  doubt,  thoughtlessly 
ventured  to  wear  on  this  great  day  a  disloyal  color,  he 
would  have  never  approached  such  a  place  unless  he  wag 
"all  right." 

When  he  entered  the  hotel,  he  found  it  well  fllled; 
several  of  the  princli)al  magiuites  of  *'the  order"  had 
called  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  "  D(>puty  Grand  "  wor- 


\\\ 


THE  HEAtltEXS  OP  THB  HEATH, 


181 


was,  por- 
'  that  (lay 
o  Belfast 
fraternity 
uiige  llaK' 
ir  banner 
dry  other 
lluttere(l 
idezvous, 
iilonj^  Iho 
nihh'd  to 
>yalty. 
?  thr()u.i4h 
ran  a.tjfiiin 
[ibout  hi.s 
ere  suHl- 
^  and  80 
,  the  very 
)rt,  salis- 
jrhtlessly 
color,  ho 
s  he  was 


1   filled; 
had 
wor- 


er 
id 


thy,  who  had  been  hU  fellow-passenger  on  the  train  from 
Dublin.  This  individual  was  in  one  of  the  largest  front 
rooms,  holding  a  kind  of  levee.  There  was  nothing  very 
dignified  in  the  proceeding,  for  all  seemed  to  be  hilarious ; 
and  while  these  happy  fellows  were  making  arrangements 
for  the  grand  procession,  which  was  about  to  take  place, 
Mr.  Valiant  hastened  to  change  his  vest;  for,  from  what 
he  had  heard,  and  from  what  had  happened,  he  now 
began  to  have  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  was  indebted  to 
the  lolor  of  that  article  of  his  apparel  for  the  singular 
attention  which  had  already  been  paid  to  him  since  his 
arrival  in  Belfast. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  procession  should  start 
by  noon  from  this  temi)orary  headiiuarters,  but  one 
thing  or  another  caused  delay,  and  it  was  over  an  hour 
before  everything  was:  in  readiness.  By  that  time,  a  great 
many  people  were  standing  at  street  corners,  and  crowds 
lined  the  principal  thoroughfares  along  which  the  proces- 
sion was  expected  to  pass.  Spectators  could  be  seen  at 
every  window;  and  boys  who  had  climbed  lamp  posts, 
stood  watching  and  waiting  upon  the^se,  and  upon  any 
otiier  aiH^essible  elevation  that  might  give  them  a  chance 
to  sei;  what  was  going  on. 

Besides  the  niaiiy  eager  sight-^:eers,  soldiers  could  be 
seen  drawn  up  in  (certain  localities,  and  an  extra  force  of 
policemen,  distrihuied  here  and  there,  was  ready  for  any 
emergency.  It  had  also  been  rumored  that  a  great  body 
of  Catholics  had  determined  to  oppose  the  offensive  dis- 
play. Orangemen  had  been  riotous  and  violent,  and  had 
interrui)ted  the  late  Catholic  celebration  of  St.  Patrick's 
day.  The  annual  recmrrence  of  Orange  demonstrations 
was  felt  by  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  to  be  not  only  uncalled 
for,  but  a  sore  cause  of  irritation— more  like  a  studied 
insult  than  a  desire  simply  to  perpetuate  the  "glorious, 
pious  and  immortal  memory "  of  King  William,  and 
which  insult,  if  the  Government  could  not  prevent  it» 
must  bo  resented  at  any  cost.  As  it  was,  many  sensible, 
well-meaning  persons,  Protestant  and  Ctitholie,  were  fully 


182 


THE  lIEATIIKKs  oF  THK  TIKATH. 


il  'i 


m    i 


U:, 


sulisflod  thai,  no  mat  tor  what  iicfcss^ity  riii^,'lit  havo  called 
Orangeism  into  existenoo,  ther«i  was  not  the  least  require- 
ment for  its  continuation— none  any  way  for  its  oflfensivo 
public  displays ;  that  if  it  were  even  a  protective  associa- 
tion, it  was  now,  in  fact  and  spirit  aggressive  and  unruly ; 
and,  from  a  common  sense  point  of  view,  must  be  adjudg- 
ed a  wanton  grievance.  As  a  secret  society,  it  had  done 
no  good;  and  as  most  secret  societies  have  a  tendency  to 
make  weak  minds  enraptured  with  silly  mysteries,  to  make 
men  exclusive,  and  to  circumscribe  gmorous  impulses, 
the  Orange  association  in  particular  had  boon  noted  for 
its  creation  of  furious  i>artisHns,  many  of  whom  can  l)o 
almost  totally  blind  to  the  claims  of  reason  and  justice, 
when  called  upon  to  decide  in  theintenst  of  a  "  brother,' 
or  in  that  of  the  so-called  "  loyal  organization." 

Nearly  a  century  ago,  when  rude  Protestant  mobs, 
called  '*  P<'ci)-o-day  Boys,"  used  to  assemble  at  the  early 
dawn  for  the  purpose  of  committing  agrarian  and  other 
outrages  ui>on  as  rude  a  mob  culled  "  Whit(^  Hoys,"  as  well 
as  upon  other  Catlu»li«'s  who  were  uniteij  in  opposition  to 
the  payment  of  tith(>s;  when  Catholics  in  turn  united  and 
were  known  as  '*])et'enders,"  subseipieiitly  ;is  '•  llibbon- 
men,"  and  r(^taliate(l  on  Protestjiiits,  when  collisions  and 
butcheries  were  of  daily,  or  rather  of  nightly  occurrence, 
the  whole  country,  especially  in  the  north,  was  the  scene 
of  violence  and  ruffianism  scarcely  ever  exce(>ded.  About 
the  time  when  it  was  fcdt  that  the  penal  laws,  long  strictly 
enforc(!d  against  "i)apists"  had  been  greatly  ndaxed  ; 
and  when  it  was  found  that  the  Iiish  Oatholics  had  become 
generally  more  disafl'ected  toward  English  rule,  it  was 
thought  impoitantto  mak(^  the  union  of  IM'otestants  nioro 
influential.  Most  of  the  "  Pe(ji>-o-day  ]>oys  "  were  as  low 
and  as  brutal  in  their  instim^ts  as  it  w^as  possible  for  any 
of  the  "White  Boys,"  or  the  "Det«Midcrs,"  to  1)0,  and 
very  few  beyond  this  class  of  Protestjint  protectors  cared 
to  be  connected  with  such  a  body  as  these  "Peepers." 
However,  after  some  cogitation  and  planning,  certain  men 
of  respecttibility  and  position,  including  Protestant  minis- 


I'., 


TttK  IIRATtlKNH  OV  TTtK  IIFATII. 


18n 


hiivo  callofl 
Jist  requiro- 
ts  oflfonsive 
ive  associa- 
md  unruly; 
:  bo  ad ju fig- 
it  had  dono 
toiKlonoy  to 
ios,  to  make 
3  impulsos, 
II  noted  for 
om  can  bo 
md  justice, 
"brother,'' 

taiif    mobs, 

t  lh(>  early 

I  and  otiier 

ys,"  as  well 

)osition  to 

nt)it('d  and 

'•Uibbon- 

sions  and 

^currenof*, 

the  scene 

(1.    About 

nuf  strictly 

rcdaxed  ; 

id  biM'.omo 

le,  it  was 

ants  ujore 

'i(^  as  low 

e  for  any 

)  1)0,  and 

ors  cared 

Peepers." 

rtain  m(Mi 

lUt  minis- 


ters, wore  secured,  and  the  llrst  (>ranj,'e  Lodj,'e  was  found- 
ed in  the  villak'e  of  Lou^'hall,  In  the  county  of  Arnuigh, 
on  the  21st  of  Sei)tember,  171)5.  The  name  of  OraiiKeism 
was  chosen  in  honor  of  William  III.,  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  it  was  not  1  )ng  before  the  association  had  branches 
in  every  part  of  the  Kingdom;  it  was  even  acknowledged 
by  Royalty,  for  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  became  the 
Clrand  Master  for  England  in  1K27. 

Previous  to  this  time  it  had  crept  into  the  army,  Boveral 
regiments  having  hud  warrants  for  holding  lodges;  and  it 
infested  British  socii.ity,  not  only  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
but  in  many  of  the  British  colonies. 

At  first  Orangeisin  was  said  to  represent  a  defensive 
association,  siudi  "t  might  have  done,  but  what  has  it 
since  become?  Though  many  worthy,  well-meaning 
persons  have  been  induced  to  enroll  themselve  under  its 
banners,  many  others  up^ti  (closer  acfpuiintance,  have 
readily  withdrawn.  The  Orange  organization  has  m^t 
entirely  proved  its(df  to  b(!  a  fraternity  to  secure  religions 
liberty,  and  to  check  lawless  intolerance;  it  has  itscdf  too 
•  iften  become  lawless,  intolerant,  and  ov<Mbearing,  it  has 
not  been  a  union  of  the  most  intelligent,  th(»  most  orderly, 
or  the  most  i>eaceable,  but  fre(iuently  the  refuge  of  too 
many  of  the  very  oppo.sitt^  character;  too  often  a  mere 
]>olitical  st(»pping-stone  for  a  class  of  men  whocouhl  never 
obtain  either  ollice,  or  authority,  or  worthy  distinction  of 
any  kind,  outside  of  this  peculiiir  association;  and  who 
are  at  times  inconsistent  enough  todenoiinup  the  Pope  or 
to  serve  his  cause,  just  as  the  policy  of  politi<'al  leaders 
may  require,  for,  at  the  )»res<'nt  day,  it  may  be  fairly 
asseit(Ml  that  Orang(Msm  is  as  mucli  a  i)olitical  as  a  relig- 
ious organi/atioii. 

An  impartial  writer  in  an  artich^  on  Oran-eism  says: 
'*  The  worst  result  of  the  Ora?i,u<'  association  was  the  con- 
stant incentive  which  it  supoHed  to  i)arty  animosities  and 
deeds  of  violence.  In  the  north  of  Irtdand  the  party  dis- 
plays antl  processions  were  a  perpetually  recurring  source 
of  disorder,  and  ev»Mi  of  bloodshed,  and  the  spirit  of  fra- 


184 


HHii  nBAYfiEMs  OF*  vnR  neAttt. 


if 


tornity  which  i)oi'vu(lo(i  its  inombors  was  a  standing  obsta- 
clo  to  the  adminintrution  of  the  law.  It  was  known  or 
boliovod  tlmt  an  OniiiK<'  culprit  was  perfectly  safe  in  the 
hands  of  an  Onin^'o  jury ;  and  all  contidence  in  the  local 
administration  of  justice  by  magistrates  was  destroyed. 
These  facts,  as  well  as  an  allegation  which  was  publicly, 
made,  of  the  existence  of  a  (!onsplracy  to  alter  the  succes- 
sion of  the  crown  in  favor  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  led 
to  a  protracted  parlimentary  inquiry,  as  well  as  a  very 
shocking  outrage  peri)etratcd  soon  afterward  by  an  armed 
body  of  Orangemen  on  occuision  of  a  procession  in  Ireland 
tended  so  much  to  discro(ilt  tlio  association,  and  to  awaken 
the  public  mind  to  a  sense  of  the  folly  and  wickedness  of 
such  associations,  that  its  respectability  has  since  that 
time  graduiiliy  diminished.  So  groat  was  the  popular  dis- 
trust of  the  administration  of  justice  in  party  questions, 
that  for  several  years  the  Lord  Chancellor  laid  down  a 
rule,  by  which  no  member  of  the  Orange  association  was 
admitted  to  the  commission  of  the  peace ;  and  although 
the  association  still  exists,  it  is  comparatively  without 
influence,  except  among  the  very  lowest  classes  in  the 
north  of  Ireland.  Of  the  colonial  ofl'shoots  of  the  Orange 
association,  those  of  Canada  have  at  all  times  been  the 
most  active  and  the  most  flourishing.  The  Canadian 
Orangemen  being  for  the  most  part  Irish  emigrants,  car- 
ried with  them  all  the  bitterness  of  the  domebtic  feud  with 
Koman  Catholics.  Outrages  directed  against  Catliolic 
churches,  couvents,  and  other  institutions  wore  of  not 
unfrequont  occurrence  until  recenti>  ,  and  on  occasion 
Oi  the  late  visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  Canada,  an  at- 
tempt was  made  to  force  from  His  Royal  Highness  a  rec- 
ognition of  the  association,  which  was  only  defeated  by 
his  own  firmness  and  by  the  judicious  and  moderate  coun- 
sels of  his  advisers."* 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  tnose  who  in  a  manner  exist 
by  Orangeism  have  agitated  for  a  repeal  of  all  prohibitory 
laws  against  Orange  processions ;  and  the  Orange  society 

•  Boo  Chnmbor's  Enc.  Art.  Orangoism. 


THE  HEATHBNH  OF  TBK  HBATH. 


185 


Landing  obsta* 

ivas  known  or 

stly  safe  in  the 

»e  in  the  local 

^as  (leHtroyed. 

1  was  publicly, 

ter  the  succos- 

mberland,  led 

rell  as  a  very 

[1  by  an  armed 

ion  in  Ireland 

ind  to  awaken 

wickedness  of 

las  since  that 

le  popular  dis- 

-rty  questions, 

>r  laid  down  a 

ssociation  was 

and  although 

ively  without 

lasses  in  the 

of  the  Orange 

lies  boon  the 

.'he  Canadian 

nigrants,  car- 

hi'm  feud  with 

inst  Catliolic 

were  of  not 

on  occasion 

tiiada,  an  ai- 

.,'hness  a  rec- 

defeated  by 

)derate  couu- 

nanner  exist, 
1  prohibitory 
:ange  society 


would  fain  appear  as  porKetMited  virtue  evoking  sympa- 
thy; mid  notwithslaMiling  tlu'  pl»'aH  and  the  preteiisiouM 
of  this  vaunting  association,  numy  of  its  leaders,  and 
many  of  its  members,  have  proved  recreant  to  their  lou«lly 
avoweil  principle.? ;  there  seems  to  be  a  leaven  of  Jesuit  lsn> 
even  in  this  society;  for  Orange  meml)ers  of  Parliament, 
especially  in  Canada,  have  been  known  to  readily  vote  for 
munitlcent  grants  toCJatholic  theoloj^jical  institutions,  and 
very  few  have  pn)ve<l  more  servile  to  Catholh;  Chtin-h 
dignltnries  than  Orange  politittlans  anxious  for  political 
support,  and  Orange  statesmen  eagerly  desirous  of  retain- 
ing power. 

When  it  became  known  that  the  Catholics  had  deter- 
mined to  oppose  the  procession,  or  attack  the  "loyal 
body,"  the  wildest  shouts  were  heard  In  various  (piarters; 
many  were  delighted  at  the  bnn^  l«Iea  of  having  a  chance 
to  cut  down  a  "damned  papist;"  an<l  certain  mounted 
oni(;lalstwlth  streaming  ribbons,  galloiu'd  furiously  about, 
frantically  brandishing  a  sword  or  other  weapon,  as  if 
the  whole  "glorious  cause  "  just  then  and  there  depended 
on  -he  quantity  of  bluster  or  persiUration  that  might 
escape  them.  At  the  time  there  appeared  to  be  much  eon- 
fusion,  and  together  with  shouts,  and  oaths  and  screams, 
there  was  a  great  waving  of  flags  and  pounding  of  big 
drums.  Frightened  women  were  hurrying  olT,  many  of 
them  urging  crying  children  to  greater  speed.  Shopkeep- 
ers could  be  seen  hastily  jnittlng  up  shutters  and  closing 
their  places  of  business;  api>lo  women  and  other  petty 
dealers,  were  making  off  with  their  stands,  and  several 
persons  were  fastening  down  windows,  and  taking  sui-'h 
other  hurried  precautions  for  safety  as  were  thought 
necessary. 

Shots  and  shouts,  the  boating  of  big  drums,  and  the 
rattle  of  little  drums,  and  the  wild  medley  of  party  tunee, 
were  again  heard ;  and  the  <lln  and  rllscord  were  most 
bewildering.  Lodge  after  lodgcf  fell  in  ;  a  great  line  was 
formed,  and  after  more  needless  galloping  and  cantering 
about,  the  procession  at  laat  started.    Souiewhat  in  ad- 


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186 


•THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Jl 


Vance,  the  "Deputy  Grand,"  mounted  on  a  grey  horse, 
rode  with  affected  stately  bearing;  men  at  arms,  and  high 
Orange  oflicials  on  either  side,  made,  as  it  were,  vigorous 
exertions  to  curb  tlieir  restless,  prancing  steeds,  and  as 
the  sun  shone  down  on  swords  and  spears,  and  upon  red 
cloaks,  red  flags,  and  orange  flags;  upon  yellow  and  blue 
ribbons,  and  upon  the  varied  tinsel  and  rude  decorations 
of  this  motley  assemblage,  the  whole  appeared  to  be  more 
like  a  vast  gathering  of  harlequins;  than  an  organized 
fraternity  intent  on  mischief. 

Mr.  Valiant  from  his  seat  at  an  upper  window  of  the 
hotel  had  seen  the  preparatory  arrangements  for  the  pro- 
cession, and,  having  waited  until  it  moved  away,  and  had 
time  to  pass  through  some  of  the  principal  streets,  was 
about  to  follow  and  see  something  of  the  disi>lay,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  judge  as  to  the  effect  of  such  an  exhibitit)n 
upon  a  population  so  divided  in  theological  belief.  He 
was  not  at  the  time  caware  that  there  was  to  be  any  hostile 
Catholic  demonstration ;  this,  though  known  to  many 
others  had  not  reached  him,  and  he  had  attributed  the 
wild  shouts,  that  had  rent  the  air  to  a  feeling  of  Orange 
( xuberanG(s  Now,  however,  just  as  he  was  about  to  start 
from  the  place,  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  wild  mob  of 
men,  who  were  yelling  like  fiends,  rush  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  As  their  sudden  appearance  and  savage  aspect 
boded  no  good,  he  quickly  re-entered  the  house,  and  went 
up  again  to  the  room  which  he  had  just  left.  The  landlord 
was  a  picture  of  consternation ;  he  seemed  to  know  at  a 
glance  with  whom  he  had  to  deal.  Many  of  the  servants 
were  terror  stricken,  most  of  them  left  the  house  and  ran 
off  to  places  of  security.  There  was  no  time  lost  by  the 
new  comers;  several  of  the  mob  rushed  into  the  house 
like  furies,  smashing  v/indows,  and  furniture,  and  any 
thing  they  could  lay  hands  on  ;  others  tore  down  the  large 
Orange  flag  that  hung  over  the  doorway,  and  the  banner, 
which  but  a  few  minutes  previously  had  waved  proudly 
from  the  cupola,  was  now,  like  the  other  flag,  lying  in  the 
dusty  street,  torn  into  shreds,  while  a  hundred  yelling 


4 


e 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


187 


rey  horse, 
,  and  liij^li 
i,  vigorous 
rls,  and  as 
I  upon  red 
;  and  blue 
eeorations 
to  bo  more 
organized 

low  of  the 
or  the  pro- 
y,  and  had 
Toets,  was 
,y,  in  order 
exhibition 
)elief.     He 
ii^y  hostile 
1  to  many 
ibutcd  the 
of  Orange 
)ut  to  start 
d  mob  of 
ont  of  the 
ige  aspect 
and  went 
e  landlord 
know  at  a 
e  servants 
e  and  ran 
ost  by  the 
the  house 
and  any 
1  the  large 
le  banner, 
d  proudly 
ing  in  the 
)d  yelling 


men,  and  even  some  wild  looking  women,  were  trampling 
it  into  the  ground,  befouling  every  thread  of  the  orange 
silk,  damning  King  William,  and  swearing  loud  vengeance 
against  all  connected  with  the  '  infernal  rabble  of  Orange- 
men." 

No  one  could  be  more  helpless  than  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel  in  this  extremity;  he  had  been  left  almost  entirely 
des(^rted;  a  few  of  his  servants  who  had  remained  with 
him  had  been  violently  assaulted  and  had  to  flee  for  their 
lives.  He  saw  some  of  the  infuriated  men  make  prepar- 
ation to  set  Are  to  the  place,  and  as  lie  was  well-known 
for  his  Orange  proclivities,  he  dared  not  approach  to 
plead  or  to  remonstrate;  for  he  well  knew  that  his  life 
would  then  be  held  but  of  little  account.  None  in  the 
neighborhood  dared  come  to  his  assistance,  and  he  ex- 
pected to  witness  nothing  but  complete  disaster.  While 
in  this  dilemma  he  was  noticed  by  some  who  were  demol- 
ishing his  proi)erty.  A  cry  was  raised,  and  nearly  a  score 
of  savage  men  chased  him  along  halls  and  corridors,  and 
Just  as  he  was  ready  to  fall  into  their  hands  weak  and 
panting,  a  door  was  suddenly  opened  by  a  gentleman ;  the 
landlord  rushed  into  the  room  and  locked  the  door ;  the 
gentleman  heroically  remained  on  the  outside,  and  the 
savage  pursuers  were  suddenly  stayed  in  their  course  by 
the  resolute  appearance  and  attitude  of  John  Valiant. 

After  a  few  moments  hesitation,  one  fellow  made  an 
attempt  to  advance,  and  cried  out:  "Stand  aside  and  let 
us  in!" 

"  If  you  follow  that  man,  you  do  so  at  your  own  peril ; 
I'll  not  let  one  of  you  pass  in  here  if  I  can  prevent  it,"  said 
Mr.  Valiant  in  a  determined  tone. 

"Stand  aside,  I  tell  you.  We  must  tear  that  damned 
Orangeman  to  pieces,"  and  the  man  made  another 
attempt  to  get  to  the  door. 

"If  you  approach  one  step  further  you  will  force  me  to 
use  this,  and  I  shall  do  it.  Don't  corae  nearer."  John 
Valiant  had  somehow  got  possession  of  the  short  thick 
end  of  a  broken  flag-pole ;  it  was  a  piece  of  ash,  and  would 


188 


THE  BBATHENB  OF  THE  BBATB. 


'ij! 


■lavc  been  a  terrible  weapon  in  the  hands  of  him  who  thoa 
grusi>ed  it. 

The  men  instinctively  judging  that  they  had  an  un- 
flinching person  to  deal  with,  again  hesitated,  and,  in 
their  disappointment  they  now  became  abusive. 

"You're  another  of  the  infernal  crew;  if  you  don't  get 
out  of  our  way  we'll  soon  find  something,  and  hack  you 
to  pieces." 

"I'm  no  Orangeman,"  replied  John  Valiant,  "but  you 
are  cowards  to  come  here  twenty  to  one  after  a  single 
man.  Don't  approach,  I  tell  you;  another  step  and  I 
strike,"  and  now  the  heavy  stick  was  raised  and  a  furious 
and  perhaps  fatal  blow  would  have  been  given,  if  the  fel- 
low who  tried  to  advance  had  not  quickly  retreated. 

"You  are  one  of  the  vile  tribe— we'll  send  you  to  hell ; 
but  that's  too  good  for  you,"  now  shouted  another.  "  You 
've  got  the  cursed  colors  next  your  heart— it  ought  to  bo 
torn  out  and  stuffed  in  your  own  mouth."  While  saying 
this  the  man  pointed  scornfully  to  Mr.  Valiant's  breast. 

In  changing  part  of  his  apparel  after  his  late  misadven- 
ture upon  his  arrival  in  the  city,  Mr.  Valiant  had  thought- 
lessly replaced  the  light  green  silk  vest  which  had  given 
such  offence,  with  one  of  a  blue  color,  and  though  tho 
shade  was  rather  deep,  it  only  made  the  small  silken 
orange  sprigs  scattered  over  it  more  conspicuous.  Even 
then,  after  this  fresh  reviling,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
he  was  wearing  any  color  which  could  possibly  give 
offence. 

It  is  probable  that  the  evil  disposed  men  who  were  then 
held  aloof,  would  have  soon  overcome  all  opposition,  and 
have  burst  into  the  room,  but  just  then  a  number  of  sold- 
iers and  constables  made  their  appearance.  A  few  of  the 
lawless  men  who  had  entered  the  house  were  arrested,  the 
others  had  made  their  escape. 

Before  the  arrival  of  this  fortunate  succor,  the  land- 
lord had  jumped  down  from  a  back  window  to  a  balcc)ny, 
and  thence  to  a  lane,  from  which  he  made  off  from  his 
enemies.    Soon  afterward,  when  he  could  venture  to  ro- 


i&^ 


..-n,.,    ■  -iU 


THE  HEATHENS  C)l'  THE  HEATH. 


180 


L  who  then 

ad  an  un- 
\,  and,  in 

don't  get 
hack  you 

,  *•  but  you 
r  a  single 
tep  and  I 
i  a  furious 
if  the  fel- 
Lted. 

ou  to  hell ; 
ler.  "You 
ught  to  bo 
ile  saying 
s  breast, 
misadven- 
i  thought- 
had  given 
lough  tho 
all  silken 
lus.  Even 
3  him  that 
sibly  give 

were  then 
iition,  and 
er  of  sold- 
few  of  the 
rested,  the 

the  land- 
a  balcony, 
f  from  his 
lire  to  re- 


turn to  the  house  with  servants  and  assistants,  Mr.  Val- 
iant took  his  way  through  the  city,  desirous  of  finding  out 
tho  perambulating  lodges. 

While  on  their  course  through  the  streets,  the  report 
came  to  the  ears  of  some  of  the  Orange  leaders,  that 
their  late  headquarters  had  beeif  nearly  demolished.  A 
sufficient  number  of  men  were  at  once  detached  and  sent 
back  to  defend  the  place;  soldiers  and  policemen  had 
also  received  orders  to  hurry  forward.  In  the  absence 
of  certain  Orange  bodies,  a  simultaneous  attack  had  been 
made  on  their  lodge  rooms,  and  a  great  deal  of  property 
was  destroyed.  The  houses  of  many  of  the  most  promi- 
nent Orangemen  in  the  city  had  been  ransacked,  and 
individual  Orangemen,  and  certain  other  Protestants,  had 
been  hunted  and  waylaid  here  and  there,  and  badly 
beaten.  Much  injury  had  been  done ;  but  as  the  Catholi(\s 
had  so  far  refrained  from  making  a  direct  attack  on  the 
procession,  the  incensed  Orangemen  were  perplexed  and 
burning  for  revenge;  and  as  they  could  not  at  once  lay 
violent  hands  on  the  "damned  papists,"  they  could  any 
way  visit  their  accursed  mass  houses  and  scatter  their 
crosses  and  their  idols  to  the  wind,  and  pitch  their  holy 
water  into  the  nearest  puddle. 

With  such  intent,  over  a  thousand  Orangemen  had 
orders  to  move  forward.  The  "Deputy-Grand  "  and  his 
mounted  companions,  were  determined,  somehow,  to  teach 
the  papists  another  lesson  that  should  be  remembered. 
Moving  on  them  at  a  quick  pace,  it  was  not  long  before  they 
drew  up  before  a  large  Catholic  chapel,  with  intent,  it 
might  be,  to  demolish  it  forthwith— at  least  such  was  the 
desire  of  a  great  majority  of  those  present.  However, 
before  these  Christian  iconoclasts  commenced  their  exem- 
plary work,  a  fanatical  chaplain,  who  wore  a  white  gown, 
and  who,  while  holding  a  Bible  in  one  hand,  clutched  a 
sword  in  the  other,  proposed  that  all  present,  who  had 
never  bent  the  knee  to  Baal,  should  first  ask  the  blessing 
of  God  ou  their  "  endeavors  to  serve  His  holy  cause,  the 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom,  the  cause  of  our 


190 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATll. 


^' 


glorious  Constitution— the  grand  Orange  causo."  Here 
tiiere  was  loud  cheering,  and  while  the  pious  chai,  lain  was 
making  shuffling  endeavors  to  mount  a  cart  for  tne  pur- 
pose of  being  sufficiently  elevated  to  ofifer  up  a  prayer,  the 
"Deputy-Grand"  and  several  of  his  magnates  galloped 
up  and  interfered  for  the»time  with  the  devout  i>roposal. 

This  great  official  having  intimated  his  dedire  to  address 
the  brethren,  a  vast  circle  was  soon  formed,  ho  and  his 
companions  rode  to  the  centre,  and  with  lusty  voic?  he 
then  and  there  spoke  out  to  those  assembled : 

"  Orangemen— loyal  brothers— upholders  of  the  cause 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  (great  cheers,)  surrounded, 
as  I  am,  by  your  impenetrable  ranks,  I  feel  that  our  holy 
and  glorious  Protestant  principles  are  safe  cheers),  and 
that  could  the  sneaking  Vicegerant  of  the  devil,  who  now 
hides  his  dinSinished  head  under  the  shadow  of  the  seven 
Roman  hills;  (cheers)  could  that  propounder  of  blasphe- 
mous infallibility,  with  his  triple  crown,  and  dead  men's 
bones,  see  your  proud  faces  on  this  auspicious  day  (cheers\ 
he  would  tremble  again  on  his  tottering  throne  in  the 
sublime  presence  of  Orange  freemen  (terrific  huzzas\ 
But,  brethren,  much  as  we  have  done  and  suffered  for  our 
glorious  principles,  how  have  we  been  treated  by  a  dast- 
ard Government,  that  would  dare  to  circumscribe  Orange 
liberty?  (Hisses.)  Here  we  are,  face  to  face  with  be- 
nighted papists— far  worse  than  the  veriest  infidels — pa- 
pists, who  have  been  pampered  to  audacity,  and  while 
trying  to  control  and  enlighten  those  serfs  of  Popery,  we 
have,  even  on  this  very  day,  been  made  to  suffer  loss  and 
injury  for  our  moderation  (yells) ;  and  many  of  us  have 
become  martyrs  in  the  cause  of  truth  aixd  loyalty  (renew- 
ed yells).  Shall  we,  sons  of  noble  sires,  submit  without 
resistance  to  papist  insults?  (Never,  never!)  Servile 
statesmen  now  in  power,  have  tried  to  denounce  our  prin- 
ciples, and  to  reduce  us  to  the  degraded  level  of  Roman- 
ists. But  hear  me,  brethren:  by  all  the  powers  eternal, 
this  shall  never  be.  (Great  cheers.)  We  feel  that  we  can 
be  independent  of  rotten  statesmen ;  we  feel,  and  we  know, 


i^ 


k\ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


191 


\"  Here 
I  kin  was 
'  tfte  pur- 
'ayer,  the 
galloped 
oi)osal. 
3  address 
I  and  his 
voic:*  he 

lie  cause 
mounded, 
our  holy 
3r8),  and 
vho  now 
le  seven 
blasphe- 
'd  men's 
cheers^ 
i  in  the 
liuzzas\ 
for  our 
a  dast- 
Orango 
^ith  be- 
bIs— pa- 
1  while 
ery,  we 
3ss  and 
is  have 
renow- 
vithout 
Servile 
r  prin- 
loman- 
l(M'naI, 
we  can 
know, 


that  we  can  have  powerful  aids ;  for  the  Lord  God,  even 
I  the  Oo  I  of  Israel,  is  on  our  side.    (Immense  cheering.) 
See  here,  valiant  brothers,  I  have  on  my  Orange  scarf 
(cheers)  because  I  am  the  Deputy-Grand  Master  of  the 
i  Orange  Association  of  England  (cheers),  and  because  it 
rein-esents  a  good  princii)le.    It  represents  civil  and  relig- 
ious liberty.    (Loud  cheers.)    It  rei)resents  an  open  Bible. 
(Cheers.)    It  rei)resents  the  preaching  of  the  glorious  Gos- 
pel of  the  blessed  God.    O  brethren,  shall  I  tell  you  some- 
thing V    (Hear,  hejir,  cries  of  "  yes,")    Two  or  three  years 
ago,  I  sent  to  the  New  York  State  fifty  Orange  warrants, 
and  you  will  find  in  their  lodge  rooms—you  will  find  fifty 

papers  signed  with  the  name  of   .    (Cheers.)    We 

have  300,000  armed  Orangemen  in  Canada ;  we  have  250,(i00 
in  Ireland  (cheers),  and  there  is  not  one  of  the  Queen's 
ships  that  sails  out  of  Portsmouth,  that  does  not  contain  a 
band  of  Orangcnnen.  (Cheers.)  What  then  can  we  fear 
from  Gladstone,  that  infefnal  Jesuit  ?  (Loud  cheers  and 
laughter.)  I  defy  thee,  (cheer)  oh  Pope  of  Kome,  thou 
unconfined  fiend  of  hell,  the  Lord  God  shall  shortly  con- 
sume thee.  (Cheers  and  laughter.)  O  House  of  Lords — 
must  I  say  it~I  will  say  it,  (laughter,)  thou  shalt  perish, 
!  (Laughter.)  Shall  I  say  something  more  ?  I  will  say  it. 
O  Prince  of  Wales,  thou  wilt  never  be  king  of  England." 
(Laughter  and  confusion.)  * 

A  short  time  before  the  conclusion  of  this  address  sev- 
eral excited  and  uncontrollable  Orangemen  had  attacked 
bystanders  whom  they  took  to  be  papists,  others  had  placed 
ladders  against  the  gothic  windows  of  the  Catholio^hurch 
for  the  purpose  of  entering  the  building  by  that  means ; 
and  while  others  were  trying  to  force  in  the  large  church 
door,  about  twenty  scattering  shots  were  fired,  and  a 
shower  of  stones  followed  from  behind  a  low  wall  which 

*  Tliat  part  of  tho  fibovn  spoocli  aftnr  tho  words  "see  here,  valiant 
brotlKii's."  is.  aeconUnt,'  to  a  li(3lfast  nowspapftr,  the  ivtun]  rodomon- 
Uu\o,  uttered  at  tho  annual  mo(^tinK  of  tho  Stalybridgo  Constitution- 
al Association,  in  October,  1872.  by  a  Doputy  Grand  Mast(!r  of  tho 
Orange  Association,  in  seoonding  a  voto  of  thanlts  to  the  Mayor. 


I!'' 


192 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ii 


^i\ 


IH 


ii  t-M 


i 
i  i 


cnoloBod  a  kind  of  yard  at  the  back  of  that  edifice.  Before 
the  smoke  cleared  away  cries  were  hoard;  three  men  lay 
on  the  j?round,  and  five  or  six  others  who  had  been  wound- 
ed were  seen  lim])in,cr  away,  or  led  off  by  friends.  Hund- 
reds of  the  Orangemen  now  lost  all  control,  and  rage  and 
wild  excitement  seemed  to  predominate.  Nearly  a  hund- 
red men  speedily  rushed  over  the  low  wall,  and  the  work 
of  havoc  commenced.  The  first  man  wearing  an  orange 
sash  who  got  into  the  yard  fell  in  a  minute  dead  to  the 
earth ;  and  a  stout  man  with  a  green  scarf,  who  had  struck 
the  mortal  blow,  now  lay  by  his  .side  desi)erately  wounded. 
In  less  than  five  minutes  seven  more  Orangemen,  and 
thirteen  Catholics,  lay  around  in  the  yard,  dead  and  dying, 
and  many  others  on  both  sides  were  severely  wounded.  A 
company  of  soldiers  now  rushed  forward,  cleared  the 
place  and  took  several  prisoners.  Before  the  soldiers 
came  many  of  the  Orangemen  who  had  been  trying  to  get 
into  the  building  through  the  \^ndows,  had  been  hurled 
down  from  the  ladders  and  were  badly  injured.  Still 
indifferent  to  the  presence  of  soldiers  or  of  constables  the 
Orangemen  in  overwhelming  numbers  continued  their 
assault  on  the  church.  Stones  Hew  thick  and  fast,  and 
every  pane  of  glass,  every  window,  and  every  door  was 
quickly  smashed  or  broken. 

Just  at  this  time  John  Valiant  had  a  narrow  escape. 
He  had  overtaken  the  Orange  procession  as  the  "  Dei»uty 
Grand  "  had  commenced  his  address  to  his  brethren,  and 
he  was  a  witness  of  all  that  had  subsequently  occurred. 
Previously,  while  in  the  streets  among  the  people,  he  did 
his  best  to  allay  bad  feelings,  and  after  the  shots  had  been 
tired  he,  at  his  own  risk,  assisted  many  of  the  wounded ; 
and  he  restrained  a  few  others  from  the  commission  of 
bloody  deeds.  Some  time  after  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers 
he  by  some  means  got  into  the  church.  He  had  been 
greatly  heated  and  fatigued  by  his  exertions  to  serve  oth- 
ers, and  as  he  sat  in  a  retired  spot  wiping  his  face  with  one 
of  the  yellow  silk  handkerchiefs  which  he  had  brought 
from  India,  about  a  dozen  excited  Catholics,  who  were 


iS) 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


193 


11(30.  Bcfofo 
roe  mou  lay 
been  wound- 

nds.  Hiind- 
md  rago  and 
uiily  a  hund- 
md  the  work 
g  an  orange 

dead  to  the 
o  had  struck 

ly  wounded, 
igemen,  and 
-dand  dying, 
tvounded.    A 

cleared  tho 
the  soldiers 
trying  to  get 
been  hurled 
iired.  Still 
>nstables  Ihe 
tinued  their 
nd  fast,  and 
ry  door  was 

TOW  escape, 
he  "  Dei>uty 
cethren,  and 
ly  occurred, 
ople,  he  did 
)ts  had  been 
e  wounded; 
nmission  of 
the  soldiers 
e  had  been 
o  serve  oth- 
icewith  one 
lad  brought 
,  who  were 


then  rushing  through  the  stormed  oilllico,  mistook  him 
for  an  Orangeman,  and  dashed  at  him  with  all  tho  fury  of 
savages.  In  another  moment  ho  might  have  Vmh-u  fatally 
injured  were  it  not  for  tho  foremost  man  who  suddenly 
8toi)ped  and  spread  out  his  arms  as  if  to  koei>  tho  others 
back. 

"Good  God!  what  are  you?  Did  I  not  UKU't  you  this 
morning  when  you  were  waylaid  by  Orangemen  ?  What 
are  you  ?    Wlio  are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  met  mo  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Valiant,  now 
recognizing  his  interrogator,  "and  I  don't  forgot  you;  I 
shall,  I  hope,  have  to  thank  you  now  for  another  rescue. " 

"  But  what  are  you  ?  "  said  tho  man  again,  and  ho  look- 
ed with  Hashing  eyes  at  tho  yellow  handliorchief. 

Mr.  Valiant  now  seomod  to  understand  all,  and  replied : 
"  I  am  nothing  in  this  place— nothing  but  what  I  was  this 
morning— neither  Orange  nor  Green,  but  a"  stranger  in  tliis 
city,  even  "now  anxious  to  got  away— never  to  see  it  again." 

"  I  believe  you  speak  tho  truth,"  said  tho  man  wlio  liad 
been  looking  searchingly  into  his  eyes,  "  but  as  you  have 
got  rid  of  the  green,  get  rid  of  that  color  also,  as  soon  as 
you  can  if  you  wish  to  be  safe."  The  men  then  hurried 
away,  leaving  Mr.  Valiant  alone. 

In  about  a  minute  afterwards  several  constables  entered 
and  took  possession  of  the  church.  By  tlie  greatest  exer- 
tions of  the  military  and  tho  police,  the  infuriated  Orange- 
men were  prevented  from  doing  further  damage.  A  strong 
guard  was  set  to  protect  tho  place ;  and  some  hours  after, 
when  the  incendiary  crowd  had  almost  disappeared,  the 
guard  was  replaced  by  a  night  v/atch.  But  the  watchmen 
must  have  slept,  for  before  day  dawn  mighty  flames  leaped 
as  if  to  anticipate  the  sun  rise ;  and  all  the  ensuing  day- 
one  of  gloom— many  were  looking  with  different  feelings 
at  the  bare,  bleak,  dilapidated  walls  of  the  Catholic 
church;  and  those  same  roofless  walls  then  stood  up 
before  all  as  a  fresh  evidence  of  the  harmony  that  exists 
among  Christian  people  in  the  "  Island  of  Saints."  * 

•  See  accounts  of  Orange  and  Catholic  riots  in  Belfast. 

9 


TTT 


i  i  i| 


.1  1, 

M    , 


i' 


n 


CHATTER    XIX. 

MISSIONARY  EFFORTS  AND  FAILURES. 

"^THAT  a  dolu^'o  of  rain!  as  if  tlio  weeping  heavens 
'  "  were  anxious  to  wash  out  the  blood,  and  to  extin- 
guish the  smouldering  fire  caused  by  desperate  religious 
riots  in  a  Christian  city.  It  had  poured  down  from  an 
early  hour  upon  the  desolate-looking  streets  of  Belfast; 
and  the  aspect  of  nature  was  truly  melancholy.  But  not 
alone  did  the  streets  seem  desolate,  for  there  were  deso- 
late homes  and  desolate  hearts;  and  not  alone  did  the 
heavens  weep,  for  women  and  children  were  weeping  over 
the  recent  slain.  There  was  weeping  in  hospitals  over 
those  who  were  soon  to  die,  and  there  would  be  weeping 
to-morrow  over  the  graves  of  those  who  had  come  to  a 
sudden  and  untimely  end. 

But  yet  all  did  not  weep  who  had  lost  relatives  or 
friends  in  the  sad  havoc  of  the  previous  day;  there  was 
one  who  felt  little  or  no  regret  at  what  had  happened. 
The  Orange  chaplain,  in  white  gown,  who  desired  to  in- 
voke destruction  on  the  "man  of  sin,"  and  who  would 
have  prayed  that  the  valiant  brethren  that  had  been 
arrayed  against  popery  on  the  late  glorious  Twelfth,  felt 
that  strife  such  as  had  occurred,  was  necessary ;  that  in 
the  order  of  Providence,  there  would  be  an  eternal  war- 
ring between  the  forces  of  good  and  evil,  and  that  thereby 
good  would  almost  always  overcome.  "  Staunch  Protest- 
antism "  was  his  ideal  of  good,  as  "popish  mummery" 
was  that  of  evil.  Why,  thought  he,  should  there  be  weep- 
ing among  the  victors ;  the  chaplain  could  see  no  reason 


4; 


TUE   IIKATHKNS  OF  TUB   HEATU. 


195 


heavens 
to  ext in- 
religious 
from  an 
f  Belfast ; 
But  not 
ere  deso- 
e  did  the 
ping  over 
tals  over 
weeping 
9me  to  a 

atives  or 
here  was 
appened. 
ed  to  in- 
lo  would 
lad  been 
Ifth,  felt 
;  that  in 
•nal  war- 
;  thereby 
Protest- 
mmery  " 
be  weep- 
0  reason 


for  tours— 1  hero  should  ho  thouglit,  bo  rathor  rojoicing 
—for  if  Olio  of  God's  faithful  friends  had  fallen,*  dozon  of 
his  oncniios  had  boon  extorminatod  ;  and  was  not  this,  on 
tho  whole,  ji  boneflt— a  real  gain  ?  Besides,  the  Protest- 
ant cliaplain  felt  as  much  assured,  that  those  of  tho  loyal 
Oningomon  who  had  yielded  up  their  lives  in  battling 
against  a  foul  system  of  lies  and  corruption,  were  just  as 
certain  of  eternal  glory,  as  some  Catholic  chaplains  felt 
conlldent  that  these  same  Orange  souls  would  be  doomed 
to  an  eternity  of  brimstone  for  harassing  and  persecuting 
the  innocent  members  of  tho  only  true  Church.  And  if 
ordained  priests,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  entertained 
such  opposite  opinions  on  this,  as  well  as  on  cognate  sub- 
jects, it  may  reasonably  be  inferred  that  the  people  whom 
they  controlled  would  form  similar  charitable  conclu- 
sions. 

However,  notwithstanding  the  heavy  rain,  there  were 
occasional  intermissions  when  one  might  venture  out; 
and  so  people  watched  and  waited  for  a  chance  to  take  a 
hurried  walk,  or  even  to  run,  to  see  the  still  smouldering 
ruins,  and  the  blotches  of  blood,  and  the  reddened  rain- 
pools  that  marked  the  place  of  contest. 

Some  rubbed  their  hands  delighted,  while  gazing  at  tho 
evidences  of  the  Orange  triumph;  others,  with  compress- 
ed lips  and  savage  looks,  were  thinking  of  revenge.  And 
yet  the  scene  was  not  altogether  strange,  it  was  almost  a 
renewal  of  what  many  of  those  present  had  witnessed 
more  than  once  in  their  lives,  and  a  scene  such  as  others 
hoped  might  be  viewed  again— but  from  a  different  stand- 
point—when those  that  now  exulted  should  be  in  conster- 
nation. 

Though  many  eager  partisans  or  sympathizers  had  thus 
seized  oj^portunities  of  going  out,  even  for  a  few  minutes, 
to  see  what  could  be  seen,  many  others,  just  as  eager  to 
gaze  with  satisfaction  at  the  ruins,  or  to  deplore  the 
calamity,  but  who  lived  at  too  great  a  distance,  were 
obliged  to  remain  at  home  fretting  the  hours  away,  while 
anxiously  waiting  for  the  weather  to  clear  up.    In  a  row 


i 


IOC 


THE  HEATUKNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


cf  handsome  cottawos,  situated  in  Mulono,  an  olovatcd 
suburb  ^uth  of  Belfast,  and  commanding  an  oxtenslvo 
view,  lived  the  Rev.  Seth  Graham,  or  rathe",  as  the  p;»l- 
ished  brass  plato  on  his  front  door  Indleatod,  '•  '^..ch  (h a- 
ham,  Missionary."  Well,  this  same  Mr.  Graham,  lil<e 
other  ministers,  had  peeullar  views  on  many  subjects, 
and,  though  having  been  duly  ordained  to  preach  the 
Gospel,  and,  as  ho  believed,  to  denounce  and  belabor 
Popery  and  Paganism,  and  if  need  be.  Prelacy  also,  yet 
ho  thought  that  no  man  had  a  right  to  bo  called  "  Ilcvcr- 
cnd; "  still,  although  ho  positively  refused  to  have  that 
signiflcant  prefix  put  before  his  name,  he  rejoiced  in  the 
more  appropriate  addition  of  "Missionary."  To  sonio 
extent  he  had  been  a  missionary.  Born  and  educated  in 
tho  Protestant  city  of  Belfast,  and  In  course  of  time,  after 
much  theological  training,  set  apart  by  Presbyterian  au- 
thority for  tho  ministry,  his  reading  and  inclination  led 
him  to  become  interested  in  missionary  labor,  and  to 
such  labor  he  fancied  he  had  a  special  call ;  and  strange 
to  say,  for  one  who  was  troubled  with  this  notion,  he  toolc 
at  that  time  a  rather  sensible  view,  and  considered  it  his 
duty  first  to  carry  the  "  pure  word  "  to  the  deluded  papists 
of  his  native  land,  instead  of  wandering  ofl"  from  one  to 
ten  thousand  miles  for  the  purpose  of  reclaiming  other 
benighted  beings. 

To  Irish  papists  then  ho  went,  yet  he  carried  the  mis- 
sionary notion  out  so  far  as  to  leave  those  of  his  native 
city  to  the  chance  proselyting  impulses  of  other  preach- 
ers, and  he  turned  his  steps,  Bible  in  hand,  to  the  far  South, 
fully  expecting  ho  could  persuade  many  that  the  Pope  was 
the  "  man  of  sin,"  and  the  veritable  anti-Christ;  and  sus- 
tained by  a  strong  hope  that  his  message  would  be  gladly 
received,  he  first  opened  the  "Book  of  books"  to  tho 
staring,  scornful  Romanists  of  the  old  popish  city  of 
Cork. 

It  may  be  truly  said,  that  his  Holiness,  the  Pope,  has 
not,  even  under  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  any  more  devoted 
to  his  cause,  or  more  subservient  to  his  authority,  than 


to\  fi  ''i 


rl 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HBaTB. 


197 


olovatod 
oxton.sivo 
i  tho  p,)!- 
Lch  Gra- 
lain,   like 

subjoctH, 
'caoh  the 
1  beldhor 
also,  yet 
1  "  Rcwr- 
lavc  that 
cd  in  tli«3 
To  soino 
ucatcd  in 
iino,  after 
erian  au- 
ation  led 
,  and   t<j 

I  stran^o 
,  he  took 
ed  it  his 
d  papists 

II  one  to 
ng  other 

the  mis- 
is  native 
:  preach- 
ir  South, 
?ope  was 
and  sus- 
e  gladly 
to  tho 
city  of 

ope,  has 
devoted 
ty,  than 


thoso  of  the  faithful  residing  in  the  chief  city  of  the  prov- 
inrt'  of  Munstcr.  From  Olonndre  to  Black  Pool,  or 
round  to  Black  Rock,  the  Catholics  of  Cork  are  far  more 
Roman  than  the  Romans  themselves;  cv.i  though  these 
Catholics  forget— many  perhaps  do  not  know— that  a  Poim 
was  in  a  manner  tho  main  cause  of  the  subjugation  of 
their  country  to  England,  they  now  hurl  anathemas  upon 
Italian  Catholics  who  !iave  dared  to  deprive  the  Holy 
Father  of  his  temporal  power;  and  nowhere  else  in  Chris- 
tendom are  the  rich  or  the  poor— even  the  almost  desti- 
tute—more willing  to  furnish  "  Peter's  pence  "  to  replenish 
the  purse  of  the  "  Vicar  of  Christ,"  or  to  say  a  "  pater  and 
ave  "  for  his  prosperity,  spiritual  and  temporal,  t^..  •  those 
of  his  creed  in  the  same  Munster  capital. 

It  was  among  such  people,  then,  that  Seth  Graham, 
missionary,  took  a  Ijold  stand ;  and  he  wro  and  spoVo 
against  prnvi  g  to  the  Virgin,  and  against  invocations  to 
saints,  against  confosHion  and  aosolution,  and  trunsub- 
stannttion;  against  penance  and  against  purgatory;  and 
against  crosses  and  relics,  and  holy  water,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  spoke  but  to  deaf  ears,  for  the  deluded  people  only 
jeered  and  laughed  at  him— they  were  most  wilful  in  their 
contempt— and  many  times  when  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  waylay  them  as  it  were,  to  force  them  to  listen,  he  would 
try  to  catch  even  a  few  together  as  they  came  from  mass 
out  of  the  principal  parish  chapel ;  he  would  shout  aloud 
in  order  that  they  might  hear  his  arguments,  or  his  decla- 
mation, and  more  than  once,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  tho 
police  and  others  saved  him  from  the  indignation  and 
violence  of  those  whom  he  would  fain  convert.         • 

Within  less  than  three  months,  then,  from  the  time  he 
had  left  Belfast,  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  in  the 
wrong  place,  and  that  he  was  likely  to  have  but  little 
return  for  his  labor,  and  not  only  for  his  labor,  but  for 
certain  funds  which  he  hfid  rather  lavishly  distributed. 
Before  he  had  commenced  this  misrionary  duty,  strong 
appeals  had  been  made  to  wealthy  church  members.  It 
had  been  represented  that  the  time  was  ausi>icious,  that 


i 


I 


198 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I  !^ 


if 


m 


sowers  might  now  go  forth  to  sow  in  southern  fields  and 
expect  rich  harvests,  and  Protestant  Christians  were 
entreated  to  furnish  the  indispensable  supplies  for  this 
special  work.  Though  all  would  no  doubt  earnestly  pray 
for  the  success  of  God's  servant — and  prayer  was  admitted 
to  be  the  most  powerful  aid— yet  his  hand  must  be  other- 
wise strengthened  if  they  wished  these  prayers  to  be  of 
any  avail.  Long  experience  had  already  taught  them  this. 
So  after  much  exertion,  after  church  collections,  and 
Sunday  school  collections,  and  solicitations  from  door  to 
door,  and  after  sundry  tea  meetings,  got  up  by  de^'oted 
spinsters,  a  liberal  amount  had  been  obtained  and  placed 
at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Graham,  and  to  this  judicious  out- 
lay among  very  needy  Romanists,  more  than  to  his  ser- 
mons or  prayers,  or  to  the  distribution  of  cheap  Bibles,  or 
of  texts,  or  tracts,  was  he  indebted  for  the  solitary  half 
dozen  Irish  disciples  whom  he  claimed  to  have  converted. 

Dissatisfied,  or  rather  disgusted,  with  the  results  of  his 
efforts  among  Irish  papists  in  Cork,  he  returned  to  Belfast ; 
and  still  full  of  the  missionary  idea,  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore he  persuaded  himself  to  believe  that  his  proper  place 
was  among  the  heathen.  Popery,  although  a  spurious 
form  of  Christianity,  had  still  something  of  its  essence ; 
had,  any  way,  a  belief  in  its  great  Founder,  which  was 
something  better  and  safer  by  far  than  paganism  or  naked 
unbelief.  He  was  now  convinced  that  the  true  field  for 
missionary  labor  was  among  those  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  "Inspired  Word,"  who  had  never  heard  the  gospel 
message.  To  the  heathen,  therefore,  he  would  go;  he 
would /eveal  to  them  the  "  plan  of  salvation,"  without  a 
knowledge  of  which  they  must  all  ultimately  perish. 

Yearning  then,  it  is  presumed,  over  the  deplorable  con- 
dition of  the  dusky  inhabitants  of  the  East,  an  opportunity 
was  soon  afforded  him  to  hasten  to  their  rescue.  The 
great  Sepoy  rebellion  had  just  been  suppressed,  Christian- 
ity, ic  was  said,  was  gaining  ground,  and  thQ  false  teachers 
of  Brahmiuism,  Buddhism,  and  Mahomotism,  were  hiding 
thoir  heads,  ashamed  and  confounded.    The  blaze  of  gos- 


,(i 


-till. 


_4 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA'^^. 


199 


fields  and 
ians   were 
88  for  this 
lestly  pray 
s  admitted 
b  be  other- 
's to  be  of 
them  this, 
tions,  and 
)m  door  to 
>y  demoted 
md  placed 
icious  out- 
to  his  ser- 
Bibles,  or 
litary  half 
Bonverted. 
ults  of  his 
^o  Belfast ; 
long  bc- 
oper  place 
spurious 
essence ; 
^hich  was 
or  naked 
B  field  for 
othinj?  of 
he  gospel 
d  go;   ho 
without  a 
ish. 

able  con- 
portunity 
ue.  The 
hristian- 
teachera 
re  hiding 
ze  of  gos- 


pel light  that  was  shed  upon  a  benighted  land— aided  it 
might  be  by  the  blaze  of  Christian  artillery— had  produced 
glorious  results  among  heathen  mutineers.  But  faithful, 
courageous  expounders  of  the  word  were  still  wanting, 
and  volunteer  missionaries  were  required  to  fill  up  the 
ranks,  and  to  supply  the  places  of  the  numbers  of  devoted 
men  who  had  fallen  a  prey  to  native  fanaticism,  to  severe 
labor,  and  to  an  oppressive  and  unhealthy  climate.* 

Approved  of  by  the  Presbyterian  Board  of  Missions, 
arrangements  were  soon  made  for  his  departure.  The 
outfit  for  a  proselyting  excursion  to  India  would  involve 
no  little  expense,  but  funds  were  ample.  The  missionary 
chest  had  always  been  well  filled.  Even  though  the  cries 
of  poverty  at  home  were  pitiful ;  even  though  the  body 
were  suffered  to  perish  for  lack  of  food,  the  immortal  soul 
must  be  saved  at  any  cost ;  so  still  think  the  Lord's  ser- 
vants, and  so  they  have  always  thought.  Well  supplied, 
however,  as  he  was,  Mr.  Graham  very  properly  thought 
that  it  was  not  good  for  him  to  be  alone,  and  that  it  might 
serve  the  cause  could  he  find  a  suitable  helpmate.  He 
made  it  a  subject  of  prayer,  and  before  many  days,  was 
fortunate  in  getting  a  wife  who,  like  himself,  bewailing 
the  sad  condition  of  idolatrous  heathen,  was  willing  to 
leave  home,  and  friends,  and  native  land,  and  go  to  the 
furthermost  ends  of  the  earth  to  spread  the  joyous  news. 
Therefore,  feeling  himself  a  chosen  messenger,  the  bearer 
of  blessings  and  a  well  filled  purse,  Seth  Graham  and  his 
wife  went  forth  equipped  for  the  missionary  field,  and. 
they  set  sail  for  India  to  join  in  the  unceasing  war  against 
the  degraded  followers  of  Juggernaut. 

Alas  for  disappointed  hopes!  A  little  over  two  years* 
experience  in  India,  fully  satisfied  the  Belfast  missionary 
that,  notwithstanding  the  great  efforts,  the  painful  sacri- 
fices, and  the  vast  expenditures  made  by  the  friends  of 
missionaries  to  establish  pure  Christianity  among  the 
idolatrous  natives  of  that  distant  laud,  the  results  were 

• 
•  See  Note  9, 


\l 


900 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


as  yet  of  the  most  paltry  kind,  and  would  be  altogether 
disheartening,  were  it  not  for  the  unwavering  faith  in  the 
future,  which  still  kept  hope  alive  in  the  bosoms  of  many 
Christian  ministers  and  people.  He  was  aware  that  those 
Janus-faced  apostles,  the  Jesuits,  had  been  early  among 
the  tribes  of  India,  and  had,  by  fostering  the  system  of 
caste,  by  claiming  to  be  w^hite  Brahmins,  and  not  for- 
eigners, and  by  a  deceitful  compromise  of  religious  ob- 
servance, induced  great  numbers  to  believe  that  Chris- 
tianitv  was  a  religion  but  slightly  differing  from  their  own 
faith,  and  therefore  to  receive  the  outward  form  of  Chris- 
tian baptism,  while  under  the  impression  that  that  rite 
was  something  bearing  a  close  relation  to  the  Hindoo 
creed;  this  was  the  way  that  Komanism  had  obtained 
nearly  all  of  its  native  adherents  in  India.  But  what  had 
been  the  progress  of  Protestantism  ?  Though  tradition 
assigns  India  as  the  scene  of  the  labors  and  martyrdom 
of  the  Apostle  Thomas;  though  at  a  very  early  period, 
primitive  Christianity  had  been  introduced  into  that  coun- 
try; and  though  up  to  the  present  time,  missionary  lives 
and  treasures  had  been  lavishly  expended,  still,  compara- 
tively speaking,  not  more  than  a  mere  handful  of  natives 
could  be  claimed  as  having  been  converted  to  Protest- 
antism. Scarcely  over  120,000,  out  of  a  population  of  over 
two  hundred  millions ;  and  out  of  these  so-called  convert- 
ed natives,  there  were  scarcely  25,000  communicants,* 
while  on  the  other  hand,  the  progress  of  Mohammedan 
missionaries  had  been  most  astonishing.  They  commenc- 
ed their  labors  centuries  after  Christianity  had  gained  a 
foothold  in  the  East,  and  now  have  in  that  country  over 
twenty-flve  millions  who  are  followers  of  the  Prophet,  and 
who  look  toward  Mecca  instead  of  toward  Benares.  But 
then,  it  was  said,  that  Mohammedanism  was  established 
in  India  as  much  by  the  sword  as  by  any  other  means, 


I: 


s 


♦Mullen's  Census  of  Indian  Missions,  token  in  18C2,  gave  Euro- 
pean Missions.  408;  ordaine  Batives,  81;  CatoelilstH,  1079;  native 
ohurobes,  890;  native  Cliriati  s,  118,893;  eoninuiniffants,  21,^2;  boy 
Boholars,  54.888 ;  girl  sclioiars  14,723.    Mtritfro  rosults  indeed  I 


TBI!  fiEATHENS  Of*  TBE  ItEATB. 


301 


altogether 
lith  in  the 
s  of  many 
that  those 
•ly  among 
system  of 
1  not  for- 
gious  ob- 
lat  Chris- 
their  own 
of  Chris- 
that  rite 
i  Hindoo 
obtained 
«vhat  had 
tradition 
irtyrdom 
V  period, 
lat  coun- 
ary  lives 
ompara- 
'  natives 
Protest- 
i  of  over 
convert- 
licants,* 
nmedan 
mmenc- 
rained  a 
try  over 
hiet,  and 
s.    But 
iblished 
means, 

1^0  Euro- 
;  native 
263;  boy 
I 


'3 


and  yet,  wonderful  to  relate,  native  Mohammedans  are 
more  steadfast  to  their  adopted  creed  than  native  Chris- 
tians, and  a  Protestant  clergyman  has  asserted  that,  "  as 
a  general  thing,  the  Mohammedans  and  Hindoos  have 
lived  together  v/ith  remarkable  tolerance  of  each  other's 
antagonistic  faiths,"  *  while  it  must  be  reluctantly  admit- 
ted that,  for  some  reason,  there  seems  to  be  a  strong 
native  prejudice  against  Christianity;  its  dictates  were 
considered  too  overbearing. 

Minister  of  peace,  as  Mr.  Graham  was,  these  startling 
facts  made  such  an  impression  as  to  lead  him  to  think, 
that  where  so  great  a  benefit  was  to  be  conferred  as  the 
establishment  of  Christianity,  and  the  overthrow  of  a 
grossly  erroneous  system,  a  little  pressure,  different  from 
that  of  moral  suasion,  might  be  profitably  used  with  stub- 
born nations ;  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  Chris- 
tianity were  ever  to  be  established  in  India,  such  a  pres- 
sure, sooner  or  later,  would  have  to  be  exercised. 

Unsuccessful  as  he  had  been  among  uneducated  Irish 
Catholics,  his  efforts  seemed  hopeless,  until  finding  that 
the  placid  philosophical  Brahmins  scarcely  deigned  to 
reply  to  what  was  considered  but  the  puerile  arguments  of 
Christians.  Obstinate  as  were  the  Jews  in  their  disbelief 
in  the  Christian  Messiah;  irreclaimable  as  were  most 
lloman  Catholics,  the  supreme  indiflference  of  Brahmins 
and  Buddhists  was  most  tantalizing.  Here,  while  under 
the  impression  that  nothing  could  withstand  the  argu- 
ments of  Christian  ministers,  Mr,  Graham  found  that 
Brahminical  priests,  while  pointing  to  their  Rig- Veda  as 
the  most  ancient  of  all  sacred  books, t  alluded  to  Chris- 
tianity, as  but  a  thing  of  yesterday.  They  spoke  of  the 
"  Liliputian  chronology  "  of  the  Bible  as  absurd,  and  of 
the  Bible  itself  as  being  only  a  plagiarized  compilation 
from  their  own  Vedas,  from  other  sacred  books,  as  well  us 

*  Rev.  E.  D.  O.  Prime,  D.D. 

t  Max  Mullor.  Profossor  in  Oxford  Univorsity,  and  many  other 
loarnod  mon.  admit  that  tlie  liig  Vi'da  of  tlio  Brahmins,  ia  tho  oldest 
of  all  sacrod  books.  • 


m 


202 


THE  B£ATH£NS  OF  THE  HEATH* 


is-*- 


'     ■  f 


from  the  sayings  and)  writings  of  ancient  sages,  and 
heatlien  pliilosophcjrs ;  and  wlien  he  found  himself  unablo 
to  disprove  these,  and  other  such  bold  assertions,  he  be- 
came incensed  that  such  blasphemy  could  not  lawfully 
be  punished  in  India  as  in  Britain ;  and,  under  a  feeling 
of  holy  indignation,  he  resolved  to  leave  a  land  of  spirit- 
ual darkness,  and  return  to  his  own  country,  which  was 
illuminated  by  the  glorious  rays  of  Gospel  light. 

As  he  had  claimed  to  have  converted  a  few,  even  in 
Ireland,  it  would  not  do  for  Seth  Graham  to  leave  the 
East  without  being  able  to  exhibit  some  proof  of  what  had' 
been  accomplished  through  his  humble  teaching  in  India. 
Ho,  like  most  other  missionaries,  was  under  the  impres- 
sion—nay, even  confident— that  he  had  done  some  good 
among  the  heathen.  It  would  not  do  to  hear  some  parsi- 
monious grumblers  reassert,  that  the  contributions  of 
Christian  people  had  been  again  wasted  in  wild  mission- 
ary enterprises — no;  when  he  next  appeared  before  the 
Missionary  Board,  or  on  a  missionary  platform  in  Ireland, 
he  wished  to  be  able  to  give  undoubted  evidence  of  what 
the  Lord  had  affected  through  Ids  agency ;  and  who  could 
gainsay  his  usefulness,  if  he  could  bring  with  his  bundle 
of  Hindoo  idols,  and  weapons,  and  trinkets,  two  or  throe 
living  Hindoos  as  witnesses  of  what  God  had  wrought 
through  the  irresistible  power  of  His  word,  as  dispensed 
by  one  of  His  most  unworthy  servants  ?  He  had  an 
opportunity  for  doing  this.  About  two  weeks  before  ho 
left  Bombay,  a  native  lady  called  on  him,  and  stated  that, 
in  consequence  of  having  expressed  a  desire  to  embrace 
Christianity,  she  had  already  suffered  much  injury— almost 
persecution— at  the  hands  of  her  wealthy  relatives,  and 
that  she  had  determined,  rather  than  be  obliged  to  con- 
form to  the  religious  practices  which  she  had  now  aband- 
oned forever,  to  go  to  some  Christian  land,  where  she 
could  be  free  to  worship  as  she  pleased,  without  any  in- 
terference from  others ;  and  had,  therefore,  made  up  her 
mind  to  go  to  England.  She  had,  she  said,  been  informed 
that  Mr.  Graham  was  about  to  return  to  that  country,  and, 


'H 


THl  HBATHIKS  OV  TBI  HKATH. 


203 


?es,  and 
[f  unable 
3,  he  be- 
lawfuUy 
a  feeling 
3f  spirit- 
iiich  was 

even  in 
)ave  the 
(That  had' 
in  India, 
impres- 
ne  good 
le  parsi- 
itions  of 
mission- 
fore  the 
Ireland, 
of  what 
10  could 
I  bundle 
>r  throe 
ivrought 
spensed 
had  an 
jfore  ho 
ed  that, 
jmbraco 
-almost 
'^es,  and 
[  to  con- 
'  aband- 
lere  she 
any  in- 
up  her 
iformed 
ry,  and, 


as  an  evidence  of  her  sincerity,  she  desired  that  he  should 
baptize  her  and  her  little  nephew— a  boy  of  about  eight  or 
nine  years—to  whom  she  had  given  Christian  instructions, 
and  whom  she  wished  to  take  with  her,  as  if  left  in  India, 
he  would  relapse  to  Hindooism ;  and  she  therefore  consid- 
ered it  a  sacred  duty  to  save  one  so  dear  to  her  from  a 
superstition  which  might  endanger  his  eternal  happiness. 
The  lady  adopted  the  Christian  name  6f  Sarah,  and  the 
boy  was  known  as  Hemar. 

Mr.  Graham,  delighted  with  the  proposal,  not  only 
readily  acquiesced,  but  in  order  to  make  sure  of  such  a 
spiritual  prize,  he  persuaded  her  to  accept  his  hospitality 
in  the  meantime.  The  native  lady,  though  apparently  in 
good  circumstances,  was  quite  willing  to  become  his 
guost,  as  she  wished  to  get  away  as  privately  as  possible ; 
but  the  little  boy,  her  nephew,  was  reluctant  to  go  to  the 
house  of  a  stranger;  her  intention  seemed  to  fret  him 
very  much;  he  spoke  of  his  mother,  and  wanted  to  go 
home— though  he  then  know  not  its  direction ;  and  were 
it  not  for  the  watchfulness  of  his  aunt,  as  well  as  the 
eager  desire  of  Mr.  Graham,  he  would  have  made  his 
escape. 

Besides  these  converts  Mrs.  Graham,  the  missionary's 
wife,  had  a  Parsee  girl  called  Sheva  that  had  either  been 
kidnapped,  or  induced  to  wander  away  from  her  parents' 
home  in  Bombay.  As  it  was,  Mrs.  Graham,  being  herself 
childless,  seemed  to  take  a  rare  interest  in  the  girl,  and 
pitying  her  spiritually  destitute  condition,  not  only  induc- 
ed her  to  become  a  Christian,  but  to  refuse  to  return  to 
her  parents.  Being  much  depressed  at  the  departure  of 
their  child,  the  parents  made  every  inquiry,  and  when" 
they  discovered,  as  they  supposed,  her  place  of  retreat, 
made  a  demand  that  she  should  be  given  up.  But  Mr. 
Graham  and  his  good  wife,  having  the  girl's  spiritual 
interest  at  heart,  denied  that  she  was  in  their  house,  and 
denied  all  knowledge  of  her  whereabouts,  and  not  only 
protested  against  being  suspected  of  keeping  her  conceal- 
ed, but  threatened  to  appeal  to  the  law  against  an  impu- 


j 

i'. 
( 

f 

j 

i 
1 

: 

i 
I 


Ir 


204 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


tation  so  unjust.  The  parents  thus  baffled  went  sadly 
away ;  they  knew  not  that  their  child's  affections  had  been 
alienated,  or  that  she  had  been  secretly  baptized,  by  a 
Christian  priest,  and  though  the  same  priest  might  admit 
that  it  would  be  wrong  to  teach  a  child  to  forget  its  natur- 
al parents,  he  might  think  it  a  far  greater  wrong  to  allow 
her  to  return  to  those  who  were  unable  to  give  her  a 
knowledge  of  the  true  God,  and  thus  imperil  her  salva- 
tion.* 

In  due  time  Mr.  Graham  and  his  wife  with  their  con- 
verts landed  in  England.  The  season  was  chilly,  there 
was  snow  on  the  hills,  and  thin  sheets  of  ice  were  spread 
over  ponds  and  pools,  and  even  upon  running  water. 
What  a  change  from  the  hot  breath  of  India !  The  sight 
must  have  been  depressing  to  the  natives  of  the  East,  for 
the  Hindoo  lady  appeared  to  have  become  suddenly  rest- 
less and  discontented ;  her  natural  vivacity  had  given  way 
to  a  sullenness  of  manner  which  was  noticed  by  all ;  and 
her  first  day  in  a  foreign  land  had  scarcely  closed  in  a 
dreary  night,  when,  without  giving  the  least  intimation, 
she  and  her  nephew  suddenly  disappeared.  A  hurried 
search  had  been  made,  inquiries  here  and  there  had  been 
fruitless,  no  one  had  seen  her,  no  one  could  give  the  least 
reliable  information  about  such  a  person,  and  no  clue 
could  be  obtained  as  to  her  place  of  retreat.  Everything 
had  been  managed  with  such  secrecy  and  tact  as  to  lead 
one  to  suppose  that  she  knew  Gravesend— the  first  port  at 
which  they  touched— and  every  person  in  it.  Her  two 
trunks  and  a  few  valuables  had  also  been  removed ;  and 
the  only  hint  in  any  way  relating  to  her  which  they  could 
get,  was  from  a  waterman  who  stated  that  about  dusk 
that  evening  he  saw  a  dark  featured,  foreign  looking  wo- 
man in  conversation  with  some  wandering  gypsies  who 
were  going  towards  London.  He  afterwards  saw  the  same 
person  on  one  of  the  river  steamers,  but  she  had  no  boy 
with  her— she  was  alone— of  this  he  was  certain,  for  being 

•  Seo  Note  lo. 


tfi£  HfiAlHENS  Of  tH£  fiSATtt. 


ao5 


nt  sadly 
had  been 
zed.  by  a 
ht  admit 
its  natur- 

to  allow 
ive  her  a 
ler  salva- 

heir  con- 
ly,  there 
e  spread 
water, 
'he  sight 
East,  for 
nly  rest- 
iven  way 
all ;  and 
•sed  in  a 
imation, 

hurried 
lad  been 
the  least 

no  clue 
erything 
3  to  lead 
it  port  at 
Her  two 
red;  and 
ey  could 
)ut  dusk 
king  wo- 
sies  who 
)he  same 
d  no  boy 
or  being 


rather  puzzled,  as  he  said,  by  her  manner  and  appearance 
he  watched  the  steamboat  leave  the  wharf,  and  he  saw 
the  strange  woman  sit  apart  from  the  other  passengers, 
and  just  as  it  was  growing  dark  she  wrapped  a  heavy 
shawl  or  mantle  about  hfer  as  if  preparing  to  sleep  until 
she  got  to  the  city. 

XJnsatisfatory  as  this  information  was,  it  set  the  mis- 
sionary thinking.  Who  could  this  woman  be?  Could  it 
be  his  lady  protege— his  Hindoo  convert  Sarah?  If  so 
what  a  vile  deceiver  1  He  then  became  somewhat  excited 
and  felt  inclined  to  curse  the  whole  race  of  pagans,  and  to 
upbraid  himself  and  others  for  wasting  time  and  money 
in  futile  attempts  to  rescue  them  from  deserved  perdition. 
Sorely  annoyed  as  he  then  was  he  could  have  wished  for 
another  Sepoy  rebellion  in  order  that  it  might  bring  them 
extermination.  After  the  end  of  his  long  voyage  he 
intended  to  pray  that  night,  and  return  thanks  for  their 
escape  from  the  dangers  of  the  deep ;  he  intended  that  his 
converts  should  have  had  a  touching  evidence  of  his  deep 
piety,  but  how  could  he  pray  now,  or  for  whom  ?  How 
hard  for  him  to  approach  the  "Throne  of  Grace"  under 
such  circumstances.  And  yet,  after  all,  he  did  pray— it 
had  become  a  habit— but  alas !  his  prayer  was  not  for  ten- 
der mercies,  but  for  tierce  judgment  on  Pope,  and  pagan, 
and  infidel,  and  on  those  that  refuse  the  gospel.  He  knew 
that  kings,  prophets,  and  apostles,  of  old  had  hurled  con- 
demnation upon  the  heathen;  and  as  these  should  still 
be  denounced,  he  urged  the  Lord  to  banish  unbelief  and 
to  thunder  in  the  ears  of  scoffers  the  deserved  threat: 
"When  your  fear  comoth  as  a  desolation,  and  your 
destruction  cometh  as  a  whirlwind,  when  distress  and 
anguish  come  upon  you,  then  shall  ye  call  upon  me,  but 
I  will  not  answer,"  and  after  this  closing  petition  the  mis- 
sionary upon  the  first  night  of  his  return  retired  to  slum- 
ber, and  it  might  be  to  dream  of  converting  savages  in 
other  lands. 


i   ■ 


;i 


•f 


il 


ir 


CHAPTER   XX. 

MORALITY  WITHOUT  THE  BIBLE. 

TjiXPERIENCE  has  fully  proved  that  ministers  of  the 
^^  gospel  are  no  less  disconcerted  by  the  trials  and  dis- 
appointments of  life  than  persons  who  have  never  had 
apostolic  hands  laid  upon  them.  Priests,  from  the  nature 
of  their  calling,  though  presumed  to  possess  more  of 
the  virtue  of  forbearance  and  resignation  than  ordinary 
men,  have  too  often  been  sadly  deficient  when  required  to 
be  an  example  unto  others,  and  as  a  class  they  have  never 
shown  themselves  superior  to  common  sinners  in  the  hour 
of  trouble,  of  temptation,  or  of  misfortune.  This  glaring 
fact— for  fact  it  is— has  emboldened  many  doubters  to 
assert  that  religion,  in  the  time  of  adversity,  has  never 
yet  surpassed,  if  it  has  ever  yet  equaled,  the  calm  philos- 
ophy of  sages,  ancient  and  modern,  who  had  neither 
belief  in  theological  creeds,  nor  in  inspired  books. 

One  might  go  back  to  so-called  Apostolic  times,  and 
allude  to  the  record  of  the  weakness  and  prevarication  of 
Peter;  the  infamous  betrayal  of  Judas;  the  contention 
between  Paul  and  Barnabas ;  and  the  jealousy  and  dicta- 
torial ambition  of  Paul  himself.  The  history  of  the  early 
Christian  Fathers,  will  show  a  repulsive  side  of  human 
nature,  as  exemplified  in  the  wilfully  unscrupulous  state- 
ments and  fabrications  of  such  as  Ireneus,  Tertullian,  Or- 
igen,'  Eusebius,  and  others,  who  were  so  thoroughly  men- 
dacious in  the  desire  to  propagate  their  crude  doctrines, 
as  to  justify  the  remark  that  "Omnis  homo  mendax,*'  may 


X 


TBE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


207 


•s  of  the 
and  dis- 
3Vor  had 
le  nature 
more  of 
ordinary 
luired  to 
ve  never 
the  hour 
I  glaring 
bters  to 
^s  never 
philos- 
neither 


bo  accepted  as  an  inspired  aphorism.*  Later  still,  have 
not  the  priests  of  Rome,  and  of  England,  and  of  almost 
every  other  country,  proved,  ag  a  body,  to  be  ambitious 
and  resentful,  and  the  veriest  slaves  of  mystery  and 
intrigue.  They  have  been  credulous  or  doubtful,  ser- 
vile or  tyrannical  as  circumstances  permitted  or  required ; 
and,  at  the  present  day,  the  journalistic  record  of  clerical 
fallibility  and  crime,  regularly  flaunted  before  the  eyes  of 
all— believers  and  unbelievers— is  truly  infamous;  and 
yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  clergy  have  still  the 
audacity  to  assert  that,  without  them  and  their  creeds, 
there  could  be  no  more  morality,  no  more  faithfulness,  no 
more  peace  among  men ;  ignoring  the  fact  that  their  own 
morality  is  too  questionable,  their  own  faithfulness  too 
unreliable,  and  their  promised  peace,  but  the  excited  jar- 
ring of  theological  opinions,  the  hatred  of  sects,  and  the 
persecutions  of  bigotry.  They  are  evidently  desirous  of 
forgetting  that  the  only  age  of  the  world  which  can  be 
truly  called  the  "Pacific  Age,"  was  that  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  period  assigned  for  the  birth  of  the  Christian 
Messiah :  a  period  when  the  whole  world  was  sunken  in 
so-called  "heathenish  darkness,"  yet,  withal,  no  such 
time  has  ever  since  returned  to  bless  mankind. 

As  history  has  borne  sad  evidence  in  relation  to  the 
superiority  of  the  morals  and  humanity  which  Christian 
priests  assert  must  result  solely  from  the  adoption  of  one 


nes,  and 
3ation  of 
tttention 
id  dicta- 
he  early 
human 
IS  state- 
ian,  Or- 
ly  men- 
►ctrines, 
T,"  may 


•  In-the  oarly  conturios  of  Christianity,  pious  mlsrepresontatlonB 
woro  auito  common.  Following  tho  example  of  Paul,  many  of  tho 
Christian  Fathers  did  not  hesitate  to  invent  and  circulate  that  which 
was  untrue.  In  order  to  bonollt  tho  Church,  The  interpolation  in 
Josephus,  now  admitted  by  Dr.  Chalmers  and  others  to  be  a  foropry, 
is  charged  against  Euseblus.  who  was  most  unscrupulous  in  fur- 
nishing apocryphal  testimonials  for  the  support  of  truth.  In  the 
r2th  Book  of  his  "Evangelical  Preparation."  Euseblus  devotes  a 
chapter  to  prove  that  falsehood  ought  to  bo  used  when  required ;  and 
ho  heads  the  3ist  chapter  with  the  question, "  How  far  it  may  be  proper 
to  use  falsehood  as  a  medicine  ?  "  Referring  to  the  Christian  clergy 
of  the  fourth  century.  Dr.  Mosheim,  the  learned  divine  and  histo- 
rian, admits,  "That  it  was  an  almost  universally  adopted  maxim, 
that  it  was  an  act  of  virtue  to  deceive  and  lie.  when  by  such  means 
tho  interests  of  the  Church  might  be  promoted."— Vol.  l.  p.  isa, 


'!■ 


<20g 


VttB  fiEATtiENS  Of  tHE  ^EAtfl. 


iw 


M 


Urn'  '>■ 


of  iho  most  modern  creeds,  lot  us  glance  at  what  has  boon 
said  as  to  the  standing  and  influence  of  some  of  those 
who  lived  before  Christianity  was  introduced  to  enlighten 
the  world.  It  is  the  fashion  of  Christian  ministers  to  decry 
Paganism,  and  to  represent  it  as  a  system  which  has  been 
most  debasing  in  its  effects.  Lilce  other  religious  systems, 
it  has  its  dark  side  as  well  as  its  bright  one,  yet  it  is  only 
fair  to  hear  something  of  what  has  been  said  in  its  favor 
by  men  whose  opinions  candid  persons  admit  to  be  above 
suspicion,  and  whose  statements  have  not  as  yet  been 
refuted. 

Among  those  ancient  pagans,  who,  according  to  a  com- 
mon orthodox  phrase,  "knew  not  God,"  the  names  of 
many  of  the  finest  characters  on  record  are  to  be  found. 
Without  alluding  to  kings,  to  soldiers,  or  to  priests— tho 
"dead-heads  "  of  society— who  have  ever  been  the  prime 
elements  of  strife,  we  find  poets,  philosophers,  orators, 
musicians,  statesmen,  physicians,  scientists,  and  astrono- 
mers, some  of  whose  pure  minds  have  furnished  gems  of 
thought  even  for  the  pages  of  inspiration ;  while  the  won- 
derful talents  and  surprising  intuitions  of  others,  have 
guided  men,  in  nearly  every  vocation,  through  the  ages 
down  to  the  present  day.  To  establish  this,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  gropennto  dim  antiquity,  nor  need  we  seek  to  dis- 
cover who  it  was  that  suggested  the  erection  of  the  mighty 
pyramids  of  Egypt,  or  whose  grand  conceptions  gave 
expression  to  the  once  shining  face  of  Memnon,  or  set  up 
the  towering  Sphinx,  with  placid  countenance,  to  gaze  for 
ages  upon  the  flowing  Nile,  and  out  upon  the  desert 
beyond ;  neither  is  it  necesssry  to  name  the  daring  archi- 
tects that  evcavated  the  vast  cave  temples  of  Ipsamboul, 
and  those  of  India ;  that  designed  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
or  that  raised  the  immense  statues  and  symmetrical  obe- 
lisks of  ancient  Egypt,  which,  after  a  lapse  of  thousands 
of  years,  are  still  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  Intellectual 
world.  No;  let  these  dead  pagans  rest,  they  were  tho 
great  preachers  of  their  time,  and  their  texts  can  still  be 
read  in  the  mountains  of  sculptured  granite,  and  in  the 


kV' 


\> 


-i: 


THE  HEATHEN8  OP  THE  HEATH. 


309 


).t  has  boon 
e  of  those 
)  enlighten 
rs  to  decry 
h  has  been 
is  systems, 
t  it  is  only 
n  its  favor 

0  be  above 

1  yet  been 

?  to  a  comr 

names  of 

be  found. 

riests— the 

the  prime 

s,  orators, 

d  astrono- 

)d  gems  of 

e  the  won- 

lers,  have 

I  the  ages 

not  neces- 

eek  to  dis- 

he  mighty 

ions  gave 

or  set  up 

;o  gaze  for 

.he  desert 

ing  archi- 

isamboul, 

IS  palaces, 

brical  obe- 

;housands 

tellectual 

were  the 

n  still  bo 

nd  in  the 


colossal  blocks  which  they  piled  and  beautified  so  th^t 
future  generations  niigiit  have  ample  evidence  of  the 
depth  and  sincerity  of  the  faith  of  those  who  worshiped 
Christna  or  Osiris.  Instead  of  those,  let  us  deal  with  some 
of  the  pagans  of  subsequent  centuries,  and  name  but  a 
few  who  lived  and  flourished  in  the  yesterday  of  time, 
even  as  late  as  a  thousand  years  before  the  reputed  advent 
of  Christ. 

It  may  commence  with  Homer,  the  so-called  "father  of 
poetry,"  and  wlio,  Sir  William  Temple  says,  "  was,  wilh- 
1  out  doubt,  the  most  universal  genius  that  has  ever  been 
known  in  the  world ;  "  and  of  whose  poems  it  has  been 
said:  "It  was  by  these  i)oems  that  all  the  worthies  of 
antiquity  wore  formed.  Hence  the  law-givers,  the  found- 
ers of  monarchies  and  commonwealths,  took  the  model 
of  their  politics,  hence  the  philosophers  drew  their  first 
principles  of  morality,  hence  physicians  have  studied  dis- 
eases and  their  cures,  astronomers  have  learned  the 
knowledge  of  the  heavens,  and  geometricians  of  the 
earth."  Great  Homer !  who,  among  the  Christian  priests 
and  prophets,  have  ever  truly  deserved  more  veneration  ? 
Then,  following  Homer,  what  an  intellectual  array  1 
Thales  stands  before  us  chief  of  the  sages,  one  of  whoso 
moral  maxims  was :  "  Avoid  doing  what  you  would  blame 
others  for  doing."  "  Enrich  not  thyself  by  unjust  means. " 
And  Pythagoras,  whose  teaching,  it  has  been  said,  "  was 
of  the  purest  and  most  spiritual  kind— self  restraint,  sin- 
cerity, and  purity  of  heart,  wore  especially  commended ; 
and  conscientiousness  and  ui)rightness  in  the  affairs  of 
life  would  seem  to  have  been  its  distinguishing  character- 
istics." Among  the  sayings  of  this  uninspired  philoso- 
pher are  the  following  words  of  wisdom:  "Do  what  you 
believe  to  be  right,  whatever  people  think  of  you."  "it 
is  impossible  that  he  can  be  free  who  is  a  slave  to  his  pas- 
sions." Then  we  have  Solon,  eminently  distinguished  as 
a  law  giver,  who  said :  "  Study  excellence,  and  aim  tit 
acquiring  it."  "Those  are  happy  who  act  honestly  and 
live  temperately."    "  Reverence  thy  parents."    "  Cherish 


»: 


-I 


t 


910 


THE  HEATHENS  01*  THE  HEATR. 


it 


i 


thy  friend."  Who  can  equal  ^sop  In  phlloaophloal  fablog? 
what  i)aruble8  have  ever  boeu  more  usoful  to  mankind  V  As 
dramatists,  there  is  ^schyius  the  father  of  tragedy,  and 
Thospis  with  his  wandering  troop,  and  Euripides,  said  to 
bo  the  author  of  over  ninety  tragedies,  in  which,  it  is  as- 
sorted, '*  He  is  of  ail  writers  remarkable  for  having  inter- 
spersed moral  reflections  and  philosophical  aphorisms  in 
his  dramatic  pieces." 

In  history  Herodotus,  Thuoidydes,  and  Manetho,  are 
regiinled  as  being  at  least  as  correct  and  impartial  as  any 
modern  writers,  and  as  a  general  thing  undeviating  in 
their  lldelity  to  truth.  (What  of  some  of  our  ecclesiasti- 
cj,l  historians,  Protestants  and  Catholic  ?) 

As  orators  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  have  never  yet  been 
surpassed;  tliey  are  still  the  models  of  statesmen  and 
priests ;  they  continue  to  dignify  politics,  and  to  inspire 
inspiration. 

As  matliomaticians,  Euclid,  Archimedes,  an  ^  Eudoxius 
still  give  lessons  to  some  of  our  professors,  and  Hippocra- 
tes is  still  revered  as  the  father  of  medicine  and  *'  prince 
of  physicians."  To  these  might  be  added  Aristotle  and 
others. 

But  the  names  of  philosophers  now  perhaps  most  com- 
monly spoken  of  are  Confucius  and  3ocrates,  to  the  form- 
er of  whom  is  ascribed  the  authorship  of  the  "  Golden 
Rule,"  which  was  centuries  afterward  transferred  to  so- 
called  "sacred  writ"  as  an  original  saying  of  Jesus.  Of 
this  great  pagan  it  has  been  said :  "  His  integrity  and  the 
splendor  of  his  virtues  made  him  beloved;  kings  were 
governed  by  his  counsels,  and  the  people  revered  him  as  a 
saint ;  "  and  of  Socrates,  whose  character  it  is  said  equal- 
ed if  not  surpassed  that  of  any  individual  recorded  in  the 
Bible.  "  The  purity  of  his  life  and  his  serenity  in  the  hour 
of  death  have  been  the  admiration  of  all,  and  many  prom- 
inent Christians  take  pleasure  in  associating  Socrates  with 
Jesus."  When  near  his  end— having  been  unjustly  con- 
demned to  die— he  addressed  his  weeping  judges,  and, 
with  other  exalted  remarks,  said :  '*  Wherefore,  O  Judges, 


THE  HEATHENS  Of  THE  HEATH. 


til 


3al  fublcB? 

■1 

tkind  ?  As 

! 

?edy,  and 

eo,  said  to 

h,  it  is  as- 

ing  inter- 

lorisins  in 

letho,  are 

ial  as  any 

riating  in 

cclesiastl- 

r  yet  been 

men  and 

:o  inspire 

Eudoxius 

iippocra- 

i  "  prince 

totle  and 

i 

lOst  com- 

;he  form- 

"  Golden 

ed  to  so- 

esus.    Of 

r  and  tlie 

igs  were 

'^l 

liim  as  a 

■  ■'-.«' 

d  equal- 

ad  in  tiio 

the  hour , 

ly  prom- 

ites  with 

-r 

3tly  con- 

;| 

es,  and, 

-f 

Judges, 

1 

be  of  good  cheer  about  death,  and  know  this  of  a  truth, 
that  no  evil  can  happen  to  a  good  man,  either  in  life  or 
after  death.  He  and  his  are  not  neglected  by  the  Goda; 
nor  has  my  own  approaching  end  happened  by  mere 
chance.  But  I  see  clearly  that  to  die  and  be  released  is 
better  for  me."*  What  an  example  of  hope  and  resigna- 
tion for  orthodox  fanatics  1 

With  those  wo  have  a  Plato,  whose  "  sublime  philoso- 
phy" has  been  eulogized  by  scholars  in  every  age,  and 
whose  writings,  it  is  said,  "  consist  in  that  grand  union  of 
abstract  thought.  Imaginative  decoration,  emotional  pur- 
ity, and  noble  activity,  which  Is  the  model  of  a  complete 
and  richly  endowed  humanity."  Readl  these  are  hla 
words:  "God  Is  truth,  and  light  Is  His  shadow."  "The 
perfectly  just  i.  in  would  be  he  who  should  love  justice 
for  its  own  sake,  not  for  the  honors  or  advantages  that 
attend ;  who  would  be  willing  to  pass  for  unjust  while  he 
practiced  the  caost  exact  justice;  who  would  not  sufifer 
himself  to  be  moved  by  disgrace  or  distress,  but  would 
continue  steadfast  In  the  love  of  justice,  not  because  it  is 
pleasant,  but  because  it  is  right." 

These  great  pagans  are  but  a  few  of  the  excellent  of  the 
earth,  who  kn  3W  nothing  of  a  "  Divine  Revelation,"  but 
whose  great  minds  conceived  a  morality  never  surpassed,  f 
The  propagandist  priests  of  Christianity  have  been  ever 
ready  to  point  out  the  foibles,  and  to  magnify  the  errors 
of  these  prominent  men,  and  to  convict  them  of  licen- 
tiousness and  inhumanity.  They  are  not  free  from  cen- 
sure—the wisest  men  have  erred— but  they  are  far  from 
being  so  depraved  as  It  Is  the  interest  of  the  Church  to 
make  them  appear.  They  found  it,  no  doubt,  necessary- 
like  some  philosophers  and  scientists  at  the  present  day— 
to  show  an  appearance  of  conformity  to  a  religion  or 
superstition  In  which  many  of  them  had  bufc  little  faith. 


•  Nearly  600  years  afterward  St.  Paul  is  said  to  have  written: 
dlo  is  Grain." 

t  See  Note  IL 


To 


I 


21% 


THE  BEATBEKS  OF  TBE  BEATB. 


yet  with  all  the  charges  that  have  been  urged  against 
them,*  they  will  not  appear  the  more  degraded  by  a  con- 
trast of  their  most  glaring  errors,  or  even  their  imputed 
crimes,  with  the  gross,  debasing  licentiousness,  and  terri- 
ble inhumanity  of  a  Moses,  an  Aaron,  a  Joshua,  a  David, 
and  a  Solomon ;  besides  a  hundred  others  of  the  depraved 
kings,  priests,  and  prophets  of  the  "book  of  books," 
whose  maxims  and  whose  morals,  if  exhibited  in  the  lives 
and  actions  of  men  at  the  present  day,  would  be  pro- 
nounced contaminating  to  society.  What  ideal  excel- 
lence have  we  even  now  that  is  not  in  some  way  a  filtra- 
tion of  the  grand  thoughts,  or  the  development  of  the 
embryonic  conceptions  of  the  pagan  of  other  days  ?  How 
far  in  advance  of  them  are  we  in  mental  or  material  pro- 
gres  ?  They  have  scarcely  left  us  anything  to  originate ; 
our  greatest  discoveries  are  perhaps  but  mere  traces  of  the 
lost  arts.  Besides  the  hundred  gates  they  have  thrown 
open  that  we  may  visit  an  intellectual  Thebes,  besides  the 
metaphysical  hieroglyphics  which  they  have  left  us  to 
decipher,  they  have  given,  with  innumerable  sages,  and 
many  amazing  structures,  the  seven  wise  men  of  Greece, 
and  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world.  Pagan  and  unbe- 
lievers! Wliat  might  the  world  have  gained  if  there  had 
been  more  of  such?  What  errors,  what  inhumanity,  what 
bloodshed,  and  what  sorrow  might  have  been  escaped, 
had  men  been  guided  by  the  simple  philosophy  of  unpre- 
tending heathens,  instead  of  having  been  mystified  by 
creeds,  or  demoralized  by  the  crude,  contradictory  bewil- 
dering pajJTOs  of  so-called  inspiration! 

But  although  tffese  excellent  men  have  long  passed 
away  they  are  still  gratefully  remembered;  no  one  can 
fairly  establish  even  a  doubt  as  to  their  existence.    Tliey 


•  Tho  evitloncos  of  Christianity  must  bo  in  a  laboring  condition 
Indeed,  if  they  require  us  to  iiniigine  that  a  Cicero,  Tacitus,  or  Pliny 
were  worshipers  of  gods  of  wood  or  stone ;  or  to  force  on  our  appre- 
hensions such  a  violence  as  that  we  should  imagine  that  the  mighty 
mind  that  had  enriched  the  world  witli  Euclid's  Elements  of  Geome- 
try, could  have  bowed  to  the  deities  of  Euclid's  Egypt  and  worshiped 
leeks  and  orocodlles.— Itev.  R.  Taylor  "  I)iegesi<»,"  p.  U 


TUE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


213 


against 
ay  a  con- 
imputed 
nd  terri- 
a,  David, 
lepraved 
books," 
the  lives 

be  pro- 
il  excel- 
a  flltra- 
t  of  the 
i?  How 
rial  pro- 
iginato ; 
OS  of  the 

thrown 
ides  the 
ft  us  to 
:es,  and 
Greece, 
I  unbo- 
ere  liad 
y,  what 
scaped, 

unpre- 
fiod  by 

buwil- 

passed 
ne  can 
They 

>n(litioii 
or  Pliny 
rappro- 
ini(;hty 
Ooomn- 
rshipod 


were  real  characters ;  there  was  nothing  mythical  about 
their  race  or  their  origin.    Where  they  lived,  and  what 
they  said,  and  what  they  wrote,  are  matters  of  certainty. 
Can  the  same  assurance  ever  be  given  as  to  the  existence 
of  the  several  "  sacred  writers,"  or  plagiarists,  and  proph- 
ets, and  apostles,  and  saints,  to  whom  is  attributed  the 
authorship  of  the  various  books,  or  tracts,  composing  the 
Bible,  and  whom  the  orthodox  extol  above  all  others  as 
exemplars  of  virtue  ?    Doubt  has  ever  cast  its  deepest  shad- 
ow upon  prophecy,  and  miracle  and  inspiration.  The  belief 
of  many  unbelievers  is  mostly  a  continue  struggle  with 
reason.    Fiction  seems  to  be  the  princii)al  constituent  of 
ecclesiastical  records.    The  most  deceptive  web  of  error  is 
that  which  has  a  golden  selvege  of  truth;  and  what  is 
theology  but  a  patchwork  of  truth  and  Action,  of  wisdom 
and  absurdity  ?    In  this  reasoning,  scientific  and  practical 
ago,  the  number  is  fast  increasing  who  can  neither  believe 
in  Isaiah's  predictions  nor  in  Daniel's  wild  visions;  who 
cannot  conceive  that  Joshua  ever  made  the  sun  stand  still 
upon  Giboon,  or  that  iihe  moon  ever  remained  stationary 
in  the  valley  of  Ajalon ;  who  will  not  believe  that  the 
witch  of  Endor  ever  raised  the  prophet  Samuel,  or  that 
Nebuchadnezzar  "ate  grass  like  an  ox,"  or  that  Baalam's 
ass  ever  uttered  a  word.    They  consider  the  legend  relat- 
ing to  the  labors  of  Hercules  just  as  credible  as  the  nara- 
tive  concerning  the  strength  of  Sampson;  the  war  with 
Jupiter  and  the  Giants  just  as  likely  to  have  occured  as 
the  war  with  Lucifer  in  heaven ;  and  tb  3  story  of  Phae- 
ton's wild  horse-  rushing  toward's  the  earth  just  as  prob- 
able as  the  ascent  of  Elijah's  fiery  chariot  in  the  opposite 
direction ;  and  still  in  this  utter  disbelief  such  skeptics 
neither  expect  to  become  the  victims  of  an  incensed  Jupi- 
ter nor  of  an  incensed  Jehovah. 

In  polemical  diflftculties,  equivocation  is  often  as  neces- 
sary as  pretension  for  Doctors  of  Divinity.  The  virtues  of 
ancient  i>agans  have  been  so  well  established  that  some 
who  boastingly  assert  that  there  cfi>a  be  no  morality 
without  the  Bible,  have  been  obliged  to  concede-viu  older 


i  f 


214 


THE  HE\TUKNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


to  support  this  priestly  notion— that  several  of  these 
renowned  pagans  were  actually  Christians— yes  Christians 
before  Christ!— and  the  religion  which  they  practised  was 
really  Christianity  in  a  kind  of  disguise.  Yet  do  not  many 
consider  that  Christianity  is  even  still  the  disguise  of  an 
older  creed ;  still  nothing  more  than  the  "  Buddhism  of 
the  West,"  for  its  prominent  doctrines  are  inculcated  in 
the  Vedas,  and  several  of  the  remarkable  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  life  of  the  Hindoo  Savior  Christna,  are 
repeated  in  those  which  are  remarkable  in  the  life  of 
Christ.*  As  the  record  of  Christna  dates  back  ages  before 
the  alleged  time  of  Christ,  can  it  be  asked  which  of  the 
incidents  referred  to  are  entitled  to  priority— which  the 
imitation?  Clark,  a  prominent  Christian  writer,  in  his 
"Evidences  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,"  states: 
"Some  of  the  ancientest  writers  of  the  Church  have  not 
scrupled  expressly  to  call  the  Athenian  Socrates,  and  some 
others  of  the  best  of  the  heathen  moralists,  by  the  name 
of  Christians,  and  to  affirm,  that  as  the  law  was  as  it  were 
a  schoolmaster  to  bring  the  Jews  unto  Christ,  so  true 
moral  philosophy  was  to  the  Gentiles  a  preparation  to 
receive  the  gospel."    P.  284. 

Clemens  Alexandrinus,  one  of  the  early  Christians,  also 
says :  "  And  those  who  lived  according  to  the  Logos  were 
really  Christians,  though  they  have  been  thought  to  ho 
Atheists,  as  Socrates  and  Heraclitus  were  among  the 
Greeks,  and  such  as  resembled  them." 

And  then  we  have  other  important  admissions  of  the 
"Christian  Fathers,"  and  writers,  such  as  that  of  the 
shrewd,  unscrupulous  Origen,  who,  unable  to  detract  from 
the  excellent  lives  and  maxims  of  certain  heathens,  says : 
•'  For  God  revealed  these  things  unto  them,  and  what- 


':i:i'!-Vi 


*  Such  as  the  incarnation  of  Christna.  born  of  a  virgin,  the  adora- 
tion of  shepherds,  the  escape  of  the  mother  and  child  from  the  tyrant 
Kansa,  the  slauffhter'of  male  children  by  the  same  tyrant,  eto.,  etc. 
Sir  William  Jones,  the  great  writer  on  India,  says:  "  That  the  name 
of  Christna  and  the  general  outline  of  his  historj-  were  long  anterior 
to  the  birth  of  our  Savior,  and  probably  to  the  time  of  Homer,  we 
kaow  very  ^ertftinly." 


b 


i! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


215 


of  these 
hristians 
;ised  was 
lot  many 
ise  of  an 
Ihism  of 
cated  in 
>nts  con- 
itna,  are 
life  of 
ss  before 
I  of  the 
lich  the 
,  in  his 
states : 
ive  not 
d  some 
e  name 
it  were 
so  true 
lion  to 

IS,  also 
)s  were 
''  to  YjQ 
Qg  the 

of  the 
3f  the 
t  from 

says : 
what- 


I 


■4 


ever  things  have  been  well  spoken."  And  Lactantius 
writes :  **  And  if  there  had  been  any  one  to  have  collected 
the  truth  that  was  scattered  and  diffused  [by  pagans] 
among  sects  and  individuals,,  into  one,  and  to  have  reduc- 
ed* it  to  a  system,  there  would  indeed  have  been  no  differ- 
ence between  him  and  us."  "What  then?  and  do  the 
philosophers  recommend  nothing  like  the  precepts  of  the 
gospel  ?  Yes,  indeed,  they  do  very  many,  and  often  ap- 
proach to  truth ;  only  their  precepts  have  no  weight,  as 
being  merely  human,  and  devoid  of  that  greater  and 
divine  authority ;  and  nobody  believes  because  the  hearer 
thinks  himself  as  much  a  man  as  he  who  prescribes  them. " 
Lactant,  Libs.  3  and  7. 

And  of  Cicero's  works  Arnobius  says :  "  And  if  Cicero's 
works  had  been  read  as  they  ought  to  have  been  by  the 
heathens,  there  would  have  been  no  need  of  Christian 
writers."  Yet,  further,  hear  the  grand  admission  of  St. 
Augustine:  "For  the  thing  itself  which  is  now  called  the 
Christian  Religion  really  was  known  to  the  ancients,  nor 
was  wanting  at  any  time  from  the  beginning  of  the  human 
race  until  the  time  when  Christ  came  in  the  flesh,  from 
whence  the  true  religion,  which  had  previously  existed, 
began  to  be  called  Christian ;  and  then  in  our  days  in  the 
Christian  religion,  not  as  having  been  wanted  in  former 
limes,  but  as  having  in  later  times  received  this  name." — 
Angus.  Vol.  1,  P.  12.* 

These  admissions  so  distinctly  stated  by  leaders  in  i  he 
Christian  Church  ought  to  be  ample  proof  that  the  purest 
morality  existed  before  the  pages  of  the  Bible  were  known 
to  man.  India,  said  to  be  the  cradle  of  humanity,  civiliza- 
tion, and  religion,  derived  its  excellent  precepts  from  the 
Vedas— the  Rig  Veda  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  oldest 
sacred  literary  work  in  existence— and  from  these  books 


*  So  pure  were  the  doctrines  of  many  of  the  ancAnt  philosophers 
that  they  were  accounted  tit  to  be  incorporated  with  those  of  Chris- 
tianity. Moshelm  says:  "  The  coalition  between  Platoism  and  Chris- 
tianity, in  the  second  and  third  centuries,  Is  a  fact  too  fully  proved  to 
be  rendered  dubious  by  mere  afflrmations."— Vol,  i.  P.  170. 


1^ 


T 


216 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  numerous  religioHS  of  the  world  have  derived  their 
various  "Incarnations,"  and  "Saviors,"  and  "Trinities," 
and  "  Plans  of  Salvation ;"  from  these  books  all  their 
doctrines  have  been  deduced— this  is  unquestionable.  Sir 
William  Jones,  himself  a  Christian,  acknowledged  to  bo 
perhaps  the  best  authority  on  India,  writes  of  the  primi- 
tive religion:  "A  spirit  of  sublime  devotion,  of  benevo- 
lence to  mankind,  and  of  amiable  tenderness  to  all  sentient 
creatures,  pervades  the  whole  work  [Institutes  of  Menu] ; 
the  style  of  it  has  a  certain  austere  majesty  that  sountis 
like  the  language  of  legislation,  and  extorts  a  respectful 
awe;  the  sentiments  of  independence  of  all  beings  but 
God,  and  the  harsh  admonitions  even  to  kings,  are  truly 
noble;  and  the  many  panegyrics  on  the  Guata,  the 
mother,  as  it  is  called,  of  the  Veda,  proved  the  author 
to  have  adored  (not  the  visible  material  sun  but)  that 
divine  and  incomparable  greater  light,  to  use  the  words 
of  the  most  venerable  text  in  the  Indian  scriptures,  which 
illumines  all,  delights  all,  from  which  all  proceed,  to 
which  all  must  return,  and  which  alone  can  irradiate  (not 
our  visual  organs  merely  but)  our  souls  and  our  intel- 
lects." 

And  John  Adams,  in  a  letter  to  Thomas  Jefferson,  says : 
"  Where  i^  to  be  found  theology  more  orthodox  or  philos- 
ophy more  profound  than  in  the  introduction  to  the 
Shasta?  'God  is  one  creator  of  one  universal  sphere, 
without  beginning,  without  end.  God  governs  all  the 
creation  by  a  general  providence  resulting  from  his  eter- 
nal designs,*  etc.  These  doctrines— sublime  If  ever  there 
were  any  sublime — Pythagoras  learned  in  India,  and 
taught  them  to  Zallucus  and  his  other  disciples." 

In  "Forbes'  Oriental  Memoirs,"  the  Hindoo  character 
is  thus  represented:  "Piety,  obedience  to  superiors,  res- 
ignation in  misfortune,  charity,  hospitality,  filial,  parental 
and  conjugal  direction,  are  among  the  distinguishing  char- 
acteristics of  the  Hindoos." 

And  Persia,  too,  had  its  morality.  The  Zend  Avesta  is 
its  inspired  book,  and  a  Ohristian  bishop  speaks  thus  in 


> 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


217 


Its  favor ;  " The  morality  of  the  Zencl  Avesta  is  entitled 
to  praise ;  purity  of  word,  action'  and  thought,  is  repeat- 
edly inculcated.  To  multiply  the  human  species,  increase 
its  happiness,  and  prevent  evil,  are  the  general  duties 
inculcated  by  Zoroaster  to  his  disciples ;  agriculture  and 
the  multiplication  of  the  useful  arts  are  particularly  recom- 
mended to  them."  Roman  Horce  Biblicce.  Sir  William 
Jones  also  adds  his  testimony :  "  The  primeval  religion 
of  Iran,  if  we  may  rely  on  the  authorties  adduced  by 
Monsani  Fani,  was  that  which  Newtown  calls  the  oldest 
(i  nd  it  may  justly  be  called  the  noblest)  of  all  religions ; 
a  firm  belief  that  *  One  supreme  God  made  the  world  by 
His  power,  and  continually  governs  it  by  His  providence ; 
a  pious  fear,  love  and  adoration  of  Him ;  and  due  rever- 
ence for  parents  and  aged  persons ;  a  fraternal  affection 
for  the  whole  human  species;  and  a  compassionate 
tenderness  for  the  brute  creation.'  "  Here  is  a  text  from 
the  book  itself :  "  Opposition  to  peace  is  a  sin.  Reply  to 
thine  enemy  with  gentleness." 

China  and  Japan  were  rich  in  moral  teachings.  Con- 
fucius and  Mencius,  the  Chinese  philosophers,  were 
apostles  of  truth  who  preached  a  gospel  never  yet  sur- 
passed, and  through  their  maxims  have  adorned  "  inspira- 
tion," and  though  they  have  been  cannonized  by  the 
great  high  priests  of  every  land,  still  they  made  their  own 
destiny  subservent  to  the  moral  doctrines  that  existed 
even  before  their  time.  The  people  of  Japan,  known  as  a 
"friendly  race,"  are  approved  for  their  filial  conduct, 
and  for  their  great  industry  and  cleanliness.  As  to  the 
alleged  barbarism  of  these  people,  a  Rev.  gentleman  in  a 
work  lately  published,  ironically  observes  :*  "  I  have 
wished  a  hundred  times  since  coming  to  Japan  that  wo 
could  import  into  our  own  and  some  other  civilized  coun- 
tries a  measure  of  this  want  of  civilization,  or  barbarism, 
or  whatever  one  may  choose  to  call  it."  And  as  to  their 
shameful  treatment  by  Christian  nations,  ho  says :    "  The 


11 


•  Bev.  K  D.  G.  Prime.  D.D.-"  Around  the  World."  1871 


10 


218 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I  ^m 


i   i 


Christian  world  owes  a  heavy  debt  to  those  heathen 
nations  which  have  suffered  so  much  at  the  hands  of 
Christian  journalists." 

Egypt,  ancient  Egypt,  may  well  boast  of  civilization ; 
the  most  obstinate  clerical  fanatic  can  do  but  little  indeed 
with  the  puny  opposition  he  might  bring  against  the 
claims  of  this  once  great  nation.  It  may  be  said  that,  in 
many  respects,  Egypt  towers  above  most  other  countries, 
just  as  the  pyramid  towers  above  the  desert.  Of  this 
land,  Rollin  the  historian,  writes :  "  Egypt  was  ever  con- 
sidered by  all  the  ancients  as  the  most  renowned  school 
for  wisdom  and  politics,  and  the  source  from  whence  most 
of  the  arts  and  sciences  were  derived.  This  kingdom 
bestowed  its  noblest  labors  and  its  finest  arts  on  the 
improvement  of  mankind ;  and  Greece  was  so  sensible  of 
this,  that  its  most  illustrious  men,  as  Homer,  Pythagoras, 
Plato,  even  its  great. legislators,  Lycurgus  and  Solon,  with 
more  whom  it  is  useless  to  mention,  traveled  into  Egypt 
to  complete  their  studies,  and  to  draw  from  that  fountain 
whatever  was  most  rare  and  valuable  in  every  kind  of 
learning." 

As  for  Greece,  and  Rome,  all  history  bears  evidence  to 
their  past  greatness.  Nearly  every  one  of  their  pagan 
heroes  and  heroines  seem  to  have  been  characters  of  the 
highest  human  excellence.  They  were  not  frightened 
into  virtue  by  theology. 

Where  can  we  find  men  more  desirous  of  doing  justice 
and  benefiting  the  human  race  than  Socrates  or  Plato,  or 
more  exemplary  than  Lycurgus  or  Cincinnatus  ?  Where 
can  we  find  chastity  to  surpass  that  of  Lucretia ;  or  honesty 
that  of  Aristides ;  or  disinterestedness  that  of  Timoleon  ? 
And  now,  after  all  the  wild  shouting  of  our  modern  clergy, 
have  their  contending  creeds  produced  better  results  for 
the  world  at  large  than  those  arising  from  paganism  or 
unbelief?  Are  Christian  jiriests  better  men  than  their 
pagan  predecessors?  Have  the  Christian  clergy  shown 
more  self-denial,  or  more  disregard  for  wealth,  and  posi- 
tion, and  anthority  than  the  expounders  of  the  Yedas,  the 


l> 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


210 


heathoQ 
hands  of 

ilization ; 
le  indeed 
3.1  nst  the 
1  that,  in 
ountries, 
Of  this 
jver  con- 
id  school 
nee  most 
kingdom 
I  on  the 
nsible  of 
hagoras, 
ion,  with 
o  Egypt 
fountain 
Isind  of 

ience  to 
pagan 
:s  of  the 
ghtened 

r  justice 
•lato,  or 

Where 
lonesty 
loleon  ? 

clergy, 
ults  for 
lism  or 
n  their 

shown 
d  posi- 

as,  the 


Zend  Avesta,  or  even  the  Koran  ?  And  the  great  question 
on  the  whole  may  be,  has  Christianity,  alone  and  unaided, 
made  men  more  intelligent,  more  truthful,  more  perfect, 
more  dignified,  more  contented  and  more  humane  than 
paganism  left  them;  has  it,  as  the  popular  religion  of 
Europe  and  America,  diminished  more  poverty  and  crime, 
or  lessened  the  evils  of  war,  or  produced  a  higher  regard  for 

human  life;  has  the  slaughter  almost  constantly  occur- 
Ing  during  the  last  eighteen  hundred  years,  equalled  or 

exceeded  that  under  paganism  during  any  previous  period 
of  the  same  duration  ?  Enormous  as  the  cost  of  the 
Christian  religion  is  at  the  present  day— extortionate 
assessments  or  demands  to  pay  the  ecclesiastical  incomes 
of  popes,  cardinals,  arch-bishops,  deans,  rectors,  mode- 
rators, curates,  and  the  remaining  vast  swarm  of  the 
clergy  of  all  denominations  seeking  maintenance;  incess- 
ant demands  for  the  erection  of  grand  cathedrals  and 
palatial  churches,  and  for  the  circulation  of  Bibles  and 
tracts;  and  increasing  demand  for  missionary  and  other 
similar  purposes— enormous  as  these  assessments  and 
demands  really  are,  they,  after  all,  fall  short  of  the  mil- 
lions required  and  expended  by  Christian  nations  for  the 
dreadful  purposes  of  war;  the  Christian  clergy,  who 
assume  to  be  men  of  peace,  or  who  contribute  little  or 
nothing  to  the  taxes  imposed  for  the  creating  and  support 
of  hostile  fleets  and  invading  armies,  are  yet  among  the 
tiist  to  urge  others  to  engage  in  bloody  strife,  and  submit 
to  the  exaction,  even  though  asylums,  and  hospitals,  and 
charitable  institutions,  should  at  the  same  time  be  lan- 
guishing for  necessary  supplies.  Doubters  will  still  ask: 
What  has  Christianity  done  for  the  nations  ?  What  is 
Athens  now  to  what  it  was  in  the  the  time  of  Pericles? 
Whether  was  Rome  greatest  in  its  Augustan,  or  in  its 
Pontifical  age. 

Notwithstanding  the  overwhelming  evidence  which  can 
be  adduced  to  prove  that  the  standard  of  morality  is  but 
little,  if  at  all,  in  advance  of  what  it  was  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago,  celestial  envoys  such  as  Seth  Graham, 


ii\  ■   ■ 


220 


THE  UEATUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


n 


Missionary  unablo  to  disprove  the  existence  of  justice,  and 
integrity  at  tiiat  period,  will  pertinaciously  assort  that  the 
minds  of  men  in  the  early  ages  had  been  impregnated 
with  the  morality  of  the  Old  Testament,  without  which 
mankind  would  have  been  in  the  most  deplorable  condi- 
tion. Old  Testament!  It  were,  perhaps,  better  not  to 
give  special  instances  of  what  that  morality  consisted; 
it  were  better  not  to  quote  from  the  "  inspired  "  record  of 
the  loves  of  some  of  the  elect  of  those  terrible  times,  their 
obscenities,  their  inhumanities  or  their  savage,  wanton 
butcheries.  Morality?  Shocking!  One  instance  may 
suffice;  read  the  life  of  the  "  Psalmist"— called,  "the  man 
after  God's  own  heart,"  and  if  any  pagan,  since  or  before 
his  respected  time,  has  proved  more  wicked,  more  sensual, 
more  abandoned,  more  treacherous,  and  more  inhumanly 
cruel  than  the  illustrious  King  David,  then  history  is  but 
fable. 

To  be  plain,  nothing  but  the  most  daring  disregard  for 
strict  accuracy,  or  the  most  overwhelming  idea  of  self- 
righteousness,  can  still  urge  certain  ministers  of  the 
gospel  to  repudiate  the  goodness  that  is  natural  to  man- 
kind ;  for  it  is  positively  false  to  assert  that  man  is  by 
nature  either  "totally  depraved,"  or  "devilish."  After  all 
the  foolish  cavilling  as  to  the  existence  of  morality  without 
the  Bible,  Christian  writers  of  undoubted  authority  admit 
and  fully  prove  that  the  excellence  of  the  morality  of  the 
ancient  world  was  alone  sufficient  for  the  guidance  of 
men— the  ethics  of  "inspiration  "  being  no  way  superior, 
and  certainly  not  original.  Those  who  lived  in  the  early 
ages  of  the  world  were  possible  of  human  feelings  as  well 
as  of  human  forms ;  they  had  an  affectionate  regard  for 
their  parents,  their  wives  and  their  children ;  they  could 
be  faithful  to  their  friends  and  magnanimous  to  enemies ; 
they  could  pity  the  suffering,  could  weep  with  those  that 
wept,  and  shed  tears  of  sorrow  over  the  graves  of  those 
who  had  departed ;  they  were  as  industrious,  as  kind,  as 
benevolent,  as  humane,  and  altogether  as  virtuous  as 
people  of  modern  times ;  there  was  then,  perhaps,  even 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


221 


jticG,  and 
t  that  the 
rof^natod 
ut  which 
le  condi- 
r  not  to 
onsistcd ; 
record  of 
les,  their 
wanton 
nee  may 
'the  man 
or  before 
sensual, 
lumanly 
ry  is  but 

sgard  for 
i  of  self. 
s  of  the 
to  man- 
an  is  by 
After  all 
without 
T  admit 
y  of  the 
lance  of 
uperior, 
le  early 
i  as  well 
rard  for 
»y  could 
aemies ; 
)se  that 
>f  those 
cind,  as 
lous  as 
s,  even 


less   selfishness  among  men  than  there  is  at  present. 
It  is  stated  that :    "  Among  the  primitive  nations  of  the 
world  alms-giving  was  inculcated  as  a  religious  observance, 
and  is  prescribed  as  such  in  their  religious  books."    "In 
early  times  Athens  could  boast  of  having  no  citizen  in 
want,  nor  did  any  disgrace  the  nation  by  begging."    An 
Athenian  decree  provided  for  the  maintenance  of  those 
who  had  been  mutilated  in  battle,  and  for  the  children  of 
those  who  fell.    Among  the  Romans  charitable  legislation 
was  frequent ;  the  holding  of  land  was  limited  as  to  ex- 
tent, and  those  who  had  none  got  a  portion  to  cultivate. 
(How  much  sHch  legislation  is  needed  at  the  present  day !) 
Grain  was  distributed  to  the  poor,  first  at  a  reduced  rate, 
but  afterwards  gratuitously ;  and  it  is  said  that  the  most 
distinguished  Roman  senators  exercised  their  patience  by 
speaking  in  public  in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  oppressed ; 
and  while  the  most  humble  citizen  was  not  forgotten  by 
the  nation,  children  were  trained  to  be  regardful  of  their 
parents,  and  education  was  considered  highly  necessary. 
As  the  dissension  and  cruel  strife  long  existing  among 
the  different  Christian   denominations  are  a  matter  of 
world-wide  notoriety,  it  may  now  be  well  to  inquire  how 
the  pagan  or  philosophical  sects  of  ancient  times  held 
together.    The  following  extracts  relating  to  those  people 
are  admitted  to  be  correct.    Gibbon,  the  historian,  says : 
"In  their  writings  and  conversation  the   philosophers 
of  antiquity  asserted  the  independent  dignity  of  reason ; 
but  they  resigned  their  actions  to  the  command  of  la#and 
custom.    Viewing  with  a  smile  of  pity  and  indulgence  the 
various  errors  of  the  vulgar,  they  dilligently  practiced  the 
ceremonies  of  their  fathers,  devoutly  frequented  the  tem- 
ples of  the  gods  ,•"  and  sometimes  condescending  to  act  a 
part  in  the  theatre  of  superstition,  concealed  the  senti- 
ments as  an  atheist  under  the  sacerdotal  robe.    It  was  in- 
different to  them  what  shape  the  folly  of  the  multitude 
might  choose  to  assume ;  and  they  approached  with  the 
same  inward  contempt  and  the  same  external  reverence 
to  the  altars  of  theTLybian,  the  Olympian,  of  the  Capito- 


m 


THE  BSATHENS  OV  TBE  HEATH. 


line  Jupiter."  Mosheim,  the  Ghristian  historian,  also 
says :  **  One  thing  Indeed,  appears  at  first  sight  very  re- 
markable—that the  variety  of  religions  and  gods  in  the 
heathen  world,  neither  produced  wars  nor  dissensions 
among  the  different  nations."  "Each  nation  suffered  its 
neighbors  to  follow  their  own  method  of  worship,  to 
adore  their  own  gods,  to  enjoy  their  own  rites  and  cere- 
monies, and  discovered  no  displeasure  at  the  diversities  of 
sentiments  in  religious  matters.  They  all  looked  upon 
the  world  as  one  great  empire,  divided  into  various 
provinces,  over  every  one  of  which,  a  certain  order  of 
divinities  presided,  and  that,  therefore,  none  could  behold 
with  contempt  the  gods  of  other  nations  or  force  strang- 
ers to  pay  homage  to  theirs." 

And  alluding  to  the  toleration  allowed  in  the  ancient 
Roman  empire,  Mosheim  further  adds:  "The  liomans 
exercised  this  toleration  in  the  amplest  manner,  for 
though  they  would  not  allow  any  change  to  be  made  in 
the  religion  of  the  empire,  nor  any  new  form  of  worship 
to  be  openly  introduced,  yet  they  granted  to  their  citizens 
a  full  liberty  of  observing  in  private,  the  sacred  rites  of 
other  nations,  and  of  honoring  foreign  deities  (whoso 
worship  contained  nothing  inconsistent  with  the  interests 
and  laws  of  the  republic)  with  feasts,  temples,  consecrated 
groves  and  the  like  testimonials  of  homage  and  respect." 
(Eco.  hist.) 

And  Renan  says :  "We  may  search  in  vain  the  Roman 
law  before  Constantino  for  a  single  passage  against  free- 
dom of  thought,  and  the  history  of  the  imperial  govern- 
ment furnishes  no  instance  of  a  prosecution  for  entertain- 
ing an  abstract  doctrine."  (Hist.  Apostles,  p.  259.)  What 
a  sad  contrast  with  the  toleration  of  Christian  govern- 
ments. 

Mosheim  thus  Inquires :  "  A  very  natural  curiosity  calls 
us  to  inquire  how  it  happened  that  the  Romans  who  were 
troublesome  to  all  nations  on  account  of  its  religion,  and 
who  suffered  even  the  Jews  to  live  unc^er  their  own  laws 
and  follow  their  own  method  of  worship,  trei^ed  the 


TfiE  fifiATHEl^S  OP  THE  HBAYB. 


223 


in,  also 
very  re- 
3  in  the 
iensions 
ered  its 
hip,  to 
d  cere- 
iities  of 
upon 
various 
rdor  of 
behold 
strung- 

mcient 

onians 

or,  for 

ado  in 

orship 

itizons 

itos  of 

whoso 

erests 

erated 

l»ect.'* 

oman 
froe- 
'Vern- 
rtain- 
What 
veru- 

calls 
were 

and 
laws 

the 


Christians  alone  with  such  severity.  A  principal  reason 
of  the  severity  with  which  the  Romans  persecuted  the 
Gtiristians  notwithstanding  these  considerations,  seems  to 
have  been  the  abhorrence  and  contempt  felt  by  the  latter 
for  the  religion  of  the  empire,  which  was  so  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  form  and  indeed  with  the  very  essence  of 
its  political  constitution ;  for  though  the  Romans  gave  an 
unlimited  toleration  to  all  religions  which  had  nothing 
dangerous  to  the  commonwealth,  yet  they  would  not  per- 
mit that  of  their  ancestors  which  was  established  by  the 
laws  of  the  land,  to  be  turned  into  derision,  nor  the  people 
to  be  drawn  away  from  their  attachment  to  it."  (Ecc. 
Hist.) 

The  ten  persecutions  alleged  to  have  taken  place 
under  Roman  emperors  are  now  admitted  by  impartial 
Christian  historians  to  be  ten  exaggerations.  Even  al- 
lowing that  there  were  twenty  such  persecutions  what 
would  the  total  number  destroyed  be,  compared  to  the 
actual  thousands  slaughtered  by  Christians  in  contesting 
some  particular  Christian  doctrine ;  how  few  compared  to 
the  vast  number  by  Christians  during  the  crusades;  and 
when  we  consider  the  millions  destroyed  to  establish 
Papal  supremacy,  and  the  number  of  Protestants  slaught- 
ered by  Protestants,  the  Christians  destroyed  by  Roman 
persecutions  would  be  an  almost  insignflcant  collection. 

Referring  to  the  fen  persecutions  which  certain  Chris- 
tian writers  assert  had  taken  place,  Gibbon  says ;  **  The 
ingenious  parallels  of  the  ten  plagues  of  Egypt,  and  the 
ten  horns  of  the  Apocalypse,  first  suggested  this  calcula- 
tion to  their  minds."  And  a  late  writer  says:  "In  the 
fourth  century,  no  settled  theories  of  the  number  of  per-  . 
secutions  seems  to  have  been  adopted,  Lactantius  reck- 
ons up  but  six."    (Cham.  Enc.) 

If  the  following  account  is  reliable  what  a  fiendish  sys- 
tem an  intelligent  pagan  must  consider  Christianity: 
From  the  rise  of  popery  in  606,  to  the  present  time,  it  is 
estimated  by  careful  and  credible  historians  that  more 
than  FIFTY  MILLIONS  of  the  human  family  have  boon 


' 


d24 


THE  HEATBEKS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


1 

i: 

■                1 

' 

''^UV' 

•^            % 

'^Hi 

*, 

'^I^^IC 

'iH 

.11 


slaughtered  for  the  crime  of  heresy— un  averuKO  of  more 
ihan  forty  thoii.mnd  religiofis  murdent  for  evory  year  of  tho 
existence  of  Toifory."  In  a  note  added  to  this  we  have 
stated :  "  A  million  of  Waldenses  perished  in  France ;  nine 
HUNDRED  THOUSAND  orthodox  Christians  were  slain  in  less 
than  thirty  years  after  the  institution  of  the  order  of 
Jesuits.  The  Duke  of  Alva  boasted  of  having  put  to  death 
in  the  Netherlands  thirty-six  thousand  by  the  hand  of  tho 
common  executioner  during  the  space  of  a  few  years. 
The  Inquistion  destroyed,  by  various  tortures,  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  within  thirty  years."* 

Now,  if  we  had  the  "  actual  figures  "  of  those  who  have 
been  unmercifully  dealt  with  by  fanatical  Protestants— of 
those  who  have  been  persecuted  by  Puritans,  and  tortured 
by  "Pilgrim  Fathers,"  or  butchered  by  other  furious 
zealots  of  the  Reformed  Church,  would  not  the  great 
aggregate  of  victims  be  woeful  ?  Is  there  no  one  who  can 
weei)  for  the  crimes  of  this  Christian  Church?  Is  there 
no  one  who  can  blush  for  its  still  shameless  pretensions  ? 
Hush— what  a  fearful  picture !  Is  there  no  one  who  can 
blot  out  this  infernal  record  against  outraged  humanity? 

Alluding  to  the  manner  in  which  heathenism  is  gen- 
erally spoken  of  by  Christian  ministers  and  people,  tho 
Rev.  Robert  Taylor  remarks :  "  As  it  would  not  be  fair  to 
take  up  our  notion  of  the  Christian  religion,  from  tho 
lowest  and  most  ignorant  of  its  professors,  and  still  less 
perhaps,  to  estimate  its  merits,  by  the  representations 
which  its  known  and  avowed  enemies  would  be  likely  to 
give;  tho  balance  of  equal  justic:  on  the  other  side,  will 
forbid  ever  forming  our  estimate  of  t lie  ancient  paganism 
from  the  misconceptions  of  itsuTivorthy  votaries,  or  tho 
interested  detractions  and  exaggerations  of  its  Christian 
opponents. 

The  only  just  and  honorable  estimate  will  be  that  which 
shall  judge  of  paganism  as  Christians  would  wish  their 
own  religion  to  be  judged— by  its  absolute  documents,  by 

*Dowley's  Hist  of  Bomarism.  p.  642.  and  noto  Scott's  Ch.  Hist, 


TBE  HEATHEK8  OV  THK  HKAttf. 


MS 


1 


the  representations  of  its  advocates,  and  the  wlnilssions 
of  its  ttdverHurles. 

When  it  is  borne  in  mind  that  a  supernatural  origina- 
tion or  divine  authority  is  not  claimed  for  these  systems 
of  theology,  there  can  be  no  occasion  to  fear  their  rivalry, 
or  encroaciiment  on  systf  ms  founded  on  such  a  claim ; 
and  still  less  to  decry  witchcraft,  and  scandalize  them,  as 
any  means  of  exalting  or  magnifying  those.  There  can- 
not be  the  least  doubt  that  in  dark  and  barbarous  ages, 
the  rude  and  unlettered  part  of  mankind  would  grossly 
pervert  the  mythical  or  allegorical  sense,  If  such  there 
were,  In  the  forms  of  religion  propounded  to  their  obser- 
vance or  impose  on  their  simplicity,  while  it  Is  Impossible 
that  those  enlightened  and  phllosopiiical  charac'ers,  who 
have  left  us  In  their  writings  the  most  undoubted  ovidoiK^e 
of  tlie  greatest  shrewdness  of  Intellect,  extent  of  Inquiry 
and  goodness  of  heart,  should  have  understood  their  the- 
ology in  no  better  or  higher  signillcance  than  ap  it  was 
understood  by  the  ignorant  of  their  own  persuasion,  or 
would  be  represented  by  their  enemies,  wlio  had  the 
strongest  pcwsible  interest  in  defaming  and  decrying  it. 
When  the  worst  is  done  in  this  way,  Chris  ianlty  would  bo 
but  little  the  gainer  l)y  being  weighed  in  the  same  scales. 
Should  we  be  allowed  to  fix  on  the  darkest  day  of  her 
eleven  hundred  years  of  dark  ages,  and  to  pit  the  grossest 
notion  of  the  grossest  ignorance  of  that  day,  as  specimens 
of  Christianity,  against  the  views  which  Christians  have 
l)oon  generally  pleased  to  give  as  representations  of  pa- 
ganism, how  would  they  abide  the  challenge?  Look  on 
this  picture  and  on  this." 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  done  by  mission- 
aries, notwithstanding  the  "running  to  and  fro/'  •*  the 
preaching  of  repentance.*'  and  the  scattering  of  thous- 
ands of  Bibles  all  over  the  earth,  the  Brahmin  Is  still 
steadfast  in  his  faith  and  he  still  prizes  the  morality  and 
the  beautiful  precepts  of  the  Vedas  when  he  can  read 
therein :  "  He  who  gives  alms  goes  to  the  highest  placo 
in  heaven ;  he  goes  to  the  gods."    **  Any  place  whore  the 


Ki 


•;'. 


m 


[tSTTT'TOT 


236 


TBB  nSATRENS  OV  TBE  BfiATH. 


mind  of  man  can  be  undfHturbed  Is  suitable  for  the  wor- 
ship of  the  S'lpreme  Being."  The  vulgar  look  for  their 
guda  in  water ;  the  ignorant  think  they  reside  in  wood, 
bricks,  and  stones;  men  of  more  extended  knowledge 
seek  theirs  in  celestial  orbs;  but  wise  men  worship  the 
universal  soul."  "The  way  to  eternal  beatitude  is  open 
to  him  who  without  omission  speaketh  the  truth."  "  As  a 
thousand  rays  emanate  from  one  flame,  thus  do  all  souls 
emanate  from  the  One  Eternal  Soul,  and  return  to  him." 

And  the  Buddhist  disregarding  all  other  creeds,  believes 
that  he  has  all  truth  when  he  reads  in  the  sacred  word  of 
Buddha.  "  As  the  bee  collects  nectar,  and  departs  without 
injuring  the  flower,  or  its  color,  or  perfume,  so  let  the 
sago  dwell  on  earth."  "Like  a  beautiful  flower,  full 
of  color,  but  without  perfume,  are  the  fine  but  fruitless 
words  of  him  who  does  not  act  accordingly."  "As  on  a 
heap  of  rubbish  cast  upon  the  highways,  the  lily  will 
K'row,  full  of  sweet  perfumes  and  delightful,  thus  the  disci- 
ple of  the  truly  enlightened  Buddha  shines  forth  by  his 
knowledge  among  those  who  are  like  rubbish,  among  the 
people  that  walk  in  darkness."  "Cut  out  th«  love  of  self 
like  autumn  lotus,  with  thy  hand !  Cherish  the  road  to 
peace."  "  He  whose  evil  deeds  are  covered  by  good  deeds 
brightens  up  this  world  like  the  moon  free  from  clouds." 

O,  philosophers,  can  ye  tell  who  alone  has  wisdom  ? 
O,  ye  priests  of  a  hundred  sects,  if  ye  cannot  reconcile 
your  conflictfng  creeds,  can  ye  prove  to  the  world  who 
alone  has  truth  ? 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


TRICKS  OF  TBADB. 


AFTER  every  hurried  search  and  inquiry  for  the  fugi- 
tives had  proved  ineffectual,  Seth  Graham,  Mission- 
ary, in  spite  of  his  holy  calling,  felt  greatly  annoyed,  by 
the  treacherous  disappearance  of  his  fancied  converts.  A 
short  time  before  he  had  left  Bombay  he  had  written  to 
one  of  the  principal  secretaries  of  the  Missionary  Society 
in  Ireland,  mentioning  the  necessity  of  his  early  return 
on  accouut  of  the  ill  health  of  himself  and  his  wife,  and 
he  had  also  given  a  rather  generous  account  of  his  success 
among  the  heathen.  He  modestly  intimated  that  many 
of  the  natives  had  already  given  the  most  touching  expres- 
sions of  regret  at  his  intended  departure,  and  that  living 
evidences  of  his  spiritual  triumphs  would,  he  trusted, 
soon  be  exhibited  on  a  missionary  platform  in  both  Eng- 
land and  Ireland.  Upon  rtscer^  .  of  this  intelligence, 
certain  ministers  at  home  took  tae  earliest  opportunity  of 
announcing  the  same  fr  »<i\  Iheir  pulpits,  and  certain  of 
the  missionary-mad,  both  lay  ;ind  clerical,  rubbed  ti-  'r 
hands  in  joyful  anticipation  of  the  rich  treat  that  was  i- 
store  for  pious  free-givers ;  u  a<3  these  ministers  also  ti  ust- 
od  to  have  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  the  discomfiture 
of  the  penurious  few  who  were  always  throwing  doubts 
upon  the  utility  of  missions  to  this  heathen,  aud  i>redict- 
ing  that  iuture  results  among  such  woulo  b'j  no  V/etter 
than  the  past. 
Seth  Graham  well  knowing,  from  Vc/*3  '.atae  of  his 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


W 


U 


I'iii 


b 


communication  to  his  friends  at  home,  that  such  announce- 
ment would  be  made  to  expectant  congregations,  was 
really  mortified  at  the  manner  in  which  he  felt  himself 
jilted,  as  it  were,  just  as  he  fancied  himself  almost  certain 
of  receiving  the  honors  of  a  clerical  triumph,  and  it  sorely- 
puzzled  his  inventive  faculty  to  And  a  way  out  of  the  awk- 
ward  position  in  which  he  had  been  placed  by  the  desbrtion 
and  evident  apostasy  of  the  Hindoo  worn  in,  who,  he 
expected,  would  corroborate  his  assertions  as  vo  the  neces- 
sity for  missions  to  India,  as  to  the  increasing  power  of 
the  gospel,  and  the  extended  influence  of  Christianity 
among  those  who  were  once  worshipers  of  wood  aiid  stone ; 
and  he  of  course  also  expected  that  she  would  point  to 
him  before  all  as,  in  a  manner,  her  spiritual  deliverer 
from  the  demons  of  a  cruel  and  debasing  superstition. 

TPhat  person  i3  scarcely  mortal  who  is  entirely  indiflferent 
to  praise  from  his  fellow  man,  particularly  when,  in  his 
own  opinion,  he  has  done  something,  little  or  much,  to 
deserve  it.  Praise  is  an  honorary  reward  suitable  to  per- 
sons of  every  degree ;  it  is  the  sunshine  in  which  the  hum- 
ble can  bask  as  well  as  the  exalted,  and  Mr.  Graham,  like 
most  other  ministers  of  the  gospel,  under  the  impression 
that  his  peculiar  talents  had  advanced  "  the  cause,"  had  a 
yearning  for  popularity,  and  would  like  to  be  hailed  in  a 
well  crowded  church,  or  to  stand  uncovered  before  a  fash- 
ionable assembly  of  wealthy  Christians,  and  to  receive 
their  well  earned  plaudits.  Many  a  night  during  his  long 
voyage  home,  did  this  retiring  missionary  comfort  him- 
self with  the  idea  of  such  a  reception,  even  in  his  dreams 
he  could  often  hear  the  congratulations  of  his  friends,  and 
at  times  in  his  night  visions,  he  could  see  the  beautiful 
faces  and  glowing  smiles  of  the  Cliristian  ladies  who  seem- 
ed to  flutter  around  him  like  celestial  butterflies,  while  ho 
in  his  humble  pride,  sat  perched  like  a  bird  of  Paradise 
upon  one  of  the  highest  branches  of  the  towering  cedars 
of  Lebanon.  And  often,  during  the  day,  many  an  hour 
would  be  spent  while  he  and  his  wile  would  converse 
about  such  pleasing  probabilities  in  anticipation  of  an 


THE  BEATHEKB  OF  THE  BEATH. 


329 


'  ■■?* 


agreeable  reunion ;  for  with  the  credentials  which  he  had 
now  in  his  possession,  was  it  possible  that  he  could  expect 
any  thing  else  than  the  most  distinguished  greeting  ? 

But  now,  alas,  what  a  change !  Seth  Graham  sat  aside 
by  himself  like  one  in  despair,  totally  crest-fallen;  he 
spoke  but  little  to  his  wife  or  to  any  one  else,  while  she, 
poor  woman,  tried  to  assure  him  by  stating  that  perhaps 
the  Hindoo  lady  might  have  had  some  reason  to  remain 
behind  for  a  time,  and  that  in  all  probability  both  she  and 
her  nephew  would  proceed  after  them  to  Ireland.  Mrs. 
Graham  recommended  her  husband  to  leave  his  address 
and  to  ask  some  pious  friends  in  the  neighborhood  to 
k^tp  a  look  out  for  the  fugitives,  and  if  they  should  be 
d.scjvered  to  urge  them  to  follow.  The  missionary  had, 
h  J  rvever,  but  little  hope ;  he  had  a  strong  impression  that 
he  had  been  grossly  deceived,  and  that  neither  he  nor  his 
wife  would  ever  again  lay  eyes  on  the  absconding  converts. 
He  had  intended  to  make  a  short  stay  in  London,  but 
under  the  present  circumstances  he  thought  it  best  to  go 
on  at  once  to  Ireland,  and"  in  the  meantime  he  would  try 
and  frame  some  excuse  for  the  non-appearance  of  his  Hin- 
doo friends,  and  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter  by  making 
the  most  he  could  of  the  Parseo  girl,  Sheva. 

Perplexed,  however,  as  he  had  been,  his  reception  in 
Belfa'-':  "as  after  all  most  gratifying.  It  had  been  made 
kncv»  cfc'«;ugh  certain  Presbyterian  journals  and  other 
Pr  "si^at  prtpt^rs,  that  the  Rev.  Seth  Graham— they  used 
t'T  «  l,K«:tionable  prefix,  Reverend— the  self-sacrificing 
miabluu  viy.  was  soon  expected  ;  that  he  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  India  in  consequence  of  impaired  health;  that 
during  his  stay  in  that  oppressive  climate,  he  had  been 
uncciasing  in  his  arduous  labors,  and  as  a  proof  of  his 
grent  success,  would  bring  to  his  native  country  certain 
converted  Pagans  whom  he  had  turned  from  idolatry  to 
tlic  worship  of  the  true  God.  This  report  having  been 
•  horoug-hly  circulated  by  pulpit  and  press,  in  less  than  a 
vfcck  -u'^cr  his  arrival,  an  immense  assemblage  greeted 
h'lL^  in  oact  of  the   largest   churches  in  Belfast.    There 


nuUUuWoe^ 


ii 


i  i 

I.- 


230 


THB  HKATHXK8  Of  THE  HBA7B. 


might  not,  perhaps,  have  been  so  many  persons  present 
on  this  great  occasion  had  it  not  been  well  understood 
that  Seth  Graham  would,  in  person,  present  to  the  people 
the  Hindoo  and  the  Parsee  converts,  who,  it  was  said,  had 
urgently  solicited  him  to  take  them  to  his  own  country ; 
and  though  for  several  days  before  the  evening  on  which 
the  exhibition  was  to  take  place,  many  of  the  ministers 
had  been  Informed  that  the  Hindoo  woman  had  been 
obliged  to  remain  for  a  time  in  England,  and  that  only 
the  Parsee  girl  would  appear,  yet  this  information  was  not 
made  known  to  the  public ;  it  was  considered  an  innocent 
stroke  of  policy  to  ke  ^  this  to  themselves,  else  the  sight- 
seers might  be  disap,  l  and  the  want  of  this  great 
attraction  might  bring  i'  ."^«  but  a  very  meagre  attend- 
ance, and  the  amount  to  be  collected  for  future  missionary 
operations  might  be  scarcely  more  than  enough  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  the  evening.* 

For  a  day  or  two  before  the  meeting  Seth  Graham  and 
his  wife  did  their  best  to  make  their  Parsee  convert, 
Sheva,  understand  what  she  was  required  to  do  and  say 
on  the  coming  occasion,  and  the  girl  being  sufficiently 
intelligent,  was  not  a  little  gratified  at  the  important  part 
which  she  was  expected  to  sustain. 

The  evening  came  at  last ;  the  missionary  platform  was 
as  usual  occupied  by  several  ministers  and  wealthy  friends 
of  the  gospel,  and  the  church  was  crowded  with  well  dress- 
ed ladies,  whose  aid  on  such  occasions  is  of  singular 
potency.  The  secretary  read  tLo  report.  A  very  large 
sum  had  been  collected  during  the  past  year,  and  though 
several  extra  expenses  had  been  incurred,  still  the  amount 
received  had  been  a  little  more  than  sufficient  to  meet  all 
demands ;  this  was  most,  gratifying,  and  reflected  the 
greatest  credit  upon  the  Reverend  managers.  The  great- 
est economy  had,  however,  to  be  practised,  the  cause  was 


iiii 


*  A  Methodist  minister  not  lone:  since  in  announoinff  from  the  pul- 
p't  that  a  missionary  meeting  would  be  held,  stated— as  an  attraction 
~that  certain  very  itrominont  and  iniliuuitial  proaoihers  would  be 
present,  when  he  well  knew  at  the  time  that  they  oould  not  attend. 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


931 


one  of  the  noblest— indeed  the  very  noblest— in  which  man 
could  be  engaged.  The  conversion  of  the  heathen  was  a 
charge  left  by  the  Great  Ruler,  to  Christian  men,  and  God 
would  hold  his  ministers  responsible  for  the  performance 
of  this  most  important  duty ;  and  those  members  of  the 
Church  who  had  wealth  at  their  disposal  would  be  called 
to  a  dread  account  on  the  day  of  General  Judgment  if  they 
selfishly  withheld  the  means  so  particularly  needed  for 
Missions.  It  might  be,  and  it  had  been  alleged  that  there 
was  both  poverty  and  ignorance  in  their  own  country,  but 
poverty  could  be  borno ;  penury  never  yet  jeopardized  a 
man's  soul— ignorance  of  God's  Holy  Word  mu«tt  result  in 
eternal  misery.  It  had  been  stated  that  Ireland  was 
afflicted  with  Popery,  and  that  the  ignorance  and  servility 
resulting  from  it  were  fraught  with  danger  to  free  institu- 
tions, and  many  believed  it  to  be  as  great  an  evil  to  socie- 
ty in  general  as  the  most  degrading  superstition  of  India. 
These  objections,  now  becoming  so  frequent,  were  really 
superficial ;  while  being  urged  as  having  a  basis  of  reason, 
they  were  simply  side  blows  against  foreign  missions ;  but 
as  long  as  God's  ministers  were  aware  of  their  vast 
responsibility  they  would  never  cease  to  urge  Christian 
men  to  hold  out  the  glorious  Bible,  that  grand  old  beacon 
light,  to  the  millions  of  human  beings  struggling  in  the 
black  darkness  of  Paganism.  Popery,  though  compara- 
tively an  evil,  was  not  perhaps  entirely  fatal  to  all  who 
had  a  sincere  belief  in  its  efficacy.  The  most  eminent 
Protestant  reformers  had  admitted  that  Romanism  had 
some  portion  of  truth ;  that  while  papists  bowed  to  images, 
kissed  relics,  and  worshiped  the  Virgin,  they  still  worship- 
ed  the  Son,  the  Savior  of  men,  and  that  therefore  those 
who  had  even  a  corrupt  Christianity  were  better  off  than 
those  who  had  no  Christianity  at  all.* 

•  At  a  missionary  meeting  hold  at  Toronto,  Canada,  in  the  "  Met- 
ropolitan" Wesleyan  church,  January  fith,  1873.  Bov.  Dr.  Punshon 
said  "He  desired  active  sympathy  for  this  Japanese  mission.  The 
niisj.ionary  cauHo  was  the  guage  of  a  church's  hoalfh  and  vigor,  and 
lit!  cc.Mld  point  in  the  direction  of  that  distant  laud  for  their  hi'lp  as 
indicated  almost  by  Divino  intelligence.    He  had  a  warm  regarfl  for 


IJ 


>'      !i 


i 


THB  BEATHEKS  01*  tBB  HEATH. 

• 

After  two  or  three  ministers  had  reiterated  the  senti« 
ments  expressed  in  the  report,  Mr.  Graham,  in  apparent 
good  health,  was  received  with  cheers.  The  address  which 
he  had  prepared  gave  the  usual  orthodox  repetition  of  the 
condition  of  the  heather,  world,  of  their  ignorance,  their 
superstition,  and  their  degradation.  The  Brahmins  were 
said  to  be  impostors,  the  Buddhists  were  illiterate,  the 
Mohammedans  fiendish,  and  the  people  generally  igno- 
rant, squalid,  poverty  stricken,  and  brutal.  He  had  seen 
unfortunate  widows  forced  to  sacrifice  themselves  in  the 
Suttee,  had  seen  fanatics  immolate  themselves  under  the 
car  wheels  of  Juggernaut,  and  had  seen  naked,  raving 
fakirs  almost  tear  the  flesh  from  their  very  bones;  the 
people  on  the  whole  were  in  a  most  deplorable  condition ; 
there  was  neithc "  charity,  nor  chastity,  nor  scarcely  human 
feeling  among  them,  they  were  simply  sensual  and  devil- 
ish; though  nicL  r  of  them  pretended  an  aversion  to  good 
beef,  yet  he  feared  Ihat  many  others  were  little  better 
than  cannibals;  and,  were  it  not  for  British  control,  hu- 
man life  would  be  insecure ;  were  it  not  for  self-sacrificing 
missionaries,  were  it  not  for  such  resolute  spirits  as  Carey, 
and  Duflf,  and  Ward,  Satan  would  reign  triumphant  over 
the  whole  land.  Dark,  however,  as  this  picture  was,  ho 
assured  them  that  the  Gospel  was  doing;  wonders  in  India ; 
thousands  were  casting  aside  their  idols,  anw  were  now 
willing  to  serve  the  true  God.  He  had  hoped,  he  said,  to 
be  able  to  give  them  the  assurances  of  adult  persons  who 
— he  humbly  said  it— had  been  led  to  the  truth  by  his 
instrumentality,  but  as  the  Hindoo  lady  and  ^er  nephew, 
who  had  accompanied  him  from  India,  had  been  obliged 
to  remain  for  a  time  in  England,  he  trusted  to  be  able,  on 
some  future  occasion,  to  induce  her  to  tell  them  of  her 
change  of  heart,  and  of  what  God's  word  had  done  for  her 

the  Home  missions  and  especially  those  for  Lower  Canada  (for  the 
conversion  of  French  Catholics)  but  he  held  that  they  were  better  off 
who  had  a  corrupt  Christianity  than  those  who  hud  no  Christianity 
at  all."  Strange  thatother  Prottistant  mlnlsUn-s  should  assort  Popery 
to  bo^i  more  daut;erous  i^VaOv  than  Pat^ranisin  or  even  unbi'liof. 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  BBATB. 


933 


and  hers.  In  conclusion,  he  urged  them  to  be  true  to  the 
great  missionary  cause,  and  not  to  forget  the  millions 
under  condemnation  of  original  sin,  who  were  yet  spirit- 
ually destitute,  but  to  strengthen  God's  hand  by  sending 
out,  at  any  cost,  or  at  any  sacrifice,  zealous  servants  of 
the  Lord  to  the  perishing  heathen. 

Like  most  of  the  assertions  made  upon  missionary 
platforms,  there  was,  of  course,  some  truth  in  the  obser- 
vations of  Mr.  Graham,  and  much  exaggeration,  which 
was  really  more  telling  upon  the  rather  credulous  assem- 
blage than  truth  itself ;  and  then  to  heighten  the  effect  of 
what  had  been  stated,  a  few  idols  and  trinkets  were  exhib- 
ited, and  after  this  the  Parsee  girl  was  smilingly  led  for- 
ward for  the  edification  of  all.  Sheva  was  dressed  in  her 
native  costume,  she  was  decorated  with  a  profusion  of 
rings  and  jewelry,  much  of  which  was  extraneous,  added 
by  Mrs.  Graham,  in  her  simple  desire  to  produce  an  'eftect. 
The  girl's  api>earance  was  graceful,  and  her  manner  inno- 
cent, and  when  she  stood  out  before  all,  there  was  much 
pushing,  and  crowding,  and  stretching  of  necks,  and  she 
seemed  somewhat  abashed  until  Mr.  Graham  whispered  a 
few  words  in  her  ear,  and  while  he  still  held  her  hand,  she 
spoke  a  few  words  in  broken  English— which  she  had  been 
made  to  practice  for  the  occasion : 

"  Me  Christin  friends,  me  little  Parsee  girl  very  glad  to 
see  you  all.  Me  love  you  all  in  dis  place  in  Irelan',  an'  in 
Englan'  too.  Me  greatly  love  my  good  fader  Grame,  an' 
my  good  mudder  Grame  wid  him  too.  Me  love  de  Lor*, 
an'  you  love  de  Lor'  too.  Me  leave  my  friends  an'  my 
nice  home  to  come  here  wid  n? y  good  fader  an'  my  good 
mudder  Grame,  me  can't  not  stay  without  dem.  I  love  de 
Lor',  an'  I  love  you  all  in  my  heart.  Tink  of  my  poor 
friends  in  Bombay,  send  dem  de  missoner,  an'  send  dem 
de  wor'  of  de  Lor',  too." 

After  the  delivery  of  this  rehearsoi  prattle  In  a  very 
hesitating  manner,  the  girl  made  a  low  bow,  and  was  led 
aside  by  her  "  good  fader  Grame,"  while  the  audience,  as 
if  struck  with  wonder  at  this  evidence  of  precocity  so 


934 


THE  BEATHEN8  OF  THE  BEATH. 


I 


I 


I 


\ 


'!■ 


. 

\  \'\ 

^> 

■     M 

M 

evangelical,  awarded  her  their  warm  and  grateful  ap- 
plause. 

It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  this  meeting  was  considered 
a  great  success ;  a  large  sum  had  been  collected  to  advance 
"  the  cause  "  in  India,  even  to  send  a  missionary  in  the 
place  of  Mr.  Graham.  He  himseif  was  in  an  excellent 
mood,  and  so  highly  favored  was  he,  that  in  a  few  days 
after  this  missionary  reception,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  Inducted  as  minister  to  a  congregation  in  Belfast. 
Being  still  of  a  restless  disposition,  and  grown  rather 
more  aggressive,  simple  preaching  was  not  sufficient  to 
satisfy  his  clerical  longings  for  notoriety.  Popery  still 
raised  its  audacious  head  in  his  native  land,  and  now 
again  he  thought  that  a  temporizing  government  had  not 
only  tolerated  this  evil,  but  had  actually  sustained  it  and 
its  Maynooth  professors  by  public  grant  > ;  that  it  was  the 
duty  Of  every  loyal  Protestant—especially  of  protestant 
ministers— to  proclaim  increasing  hostility  against  every- 
thing Popish ;  and,  as  he  had  learned  by  experitmce,  that 
it  vas  almost  useless  to  produce  what  he  and  many  others 
deemed  unanswerable  texts  and  arguments,  either  against 
the  man  of  sin,  or  against  many  of  the  prevailing  theo- 
logical errors,  he  believed  that  something  more  like  mus- 
cular arguments  were  indispensable,  and  as  Orangeism 
had  a  leaning  in  that  direction,  he  became  a  member  of 
that  society,  and  was  soon  afterward  elected  a  kind  of 
district  chaplain,  and  in  his  visits  to  sundry  lodges,  he 
caused  much  excitement  and  evoked  a  strong  anti-Popish 
spirit  at  a  time  when  the  government  was  most  anxious  to 
suppress  Orange  celebrations,  particularly  in  Ireland; 
and  in  defiance  of  proclamations,  either  from  the  Lord 
Lieutenant,  or  from  the  Queen  herself,  he  continually 
urged  the  Orangemen  to  be  true  to  their  principles,  and 
not  be  afraid  of  either  Pope  or  devil,  to  turn  out,  one  and 
all,  and  display  their  colors  upon  the  ever  glorious  Twelfth. 


■1= 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

WAVERING    FAITH. 

VrTELL,  on  the  day  after  the  late  Orange  celebration, 
* '^  Seth  Graham,  weather  bound  like  others,  stood 
gloomily  at  his  window,  looking  up  occasionally  at  the 
Divis  riuges  now  dimly  visible  in  the  leaden  sky,  and 
then  at  the  lowering  clouds;  he  was  annoyed  by  the 
continuous  rain,  now  streaming  down,  now  lightening  a 
little  but  to  disappoint  him  again;  he  wished  like  others 
to  get  out  and  to  have  an  opportunity  of  visiting  some  of 
his  wounded  friends,  and  like  others  perhaps  to  feast  his 
eyes  upon  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  Popish  church. 

His  wife,  a  delicate  looking  little  woman,  sat  near  him, 
they  had  been  conversing  about  the  unhappy  incidents  of 
the  Twelfth.  She,  of  a  gentle  and  humane  disposition, 
had  utterly  disapproved  of  the  bloodshed  that  had  taken 
place,  and  of  the  destruction  of  the  building.  He,  in  evi- 
dent angry  mood,  had  justified  all,  and  while  he  had  been 
denouncing  Romanism,  and  uttering  the  most  uncharit- 
able sentiments  against  that  system,  the  Parsee  girl,  She- 
va,  who  had  been  sitting  half  asleep  on  the  carpet  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  had  listened  to  his  loud  words  and 
seemed  surprised  at  his  vehemence.  She  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  now  at  Mrs.  Graham's  thin,  pale  face,  now  at 
Graham  who  with  gloomy  expression  still  looked  out  at 
the  window ;  and  she  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time  as 
if  partly  afraid  of  her  spiritual  parent.  He  was  a  man  of 
medium  height,  rather  slightly  built,  his  face  was  sallow. 


1 


236 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


!■!» 


Ills  eyes  dark  and  sunken,  and  his  lank  black  hair,  now 
touched  with  grey,  was  parted  in  the  middle,  giving  him  a 
kind  of  sanctimonious  appearance.  He  was  one  whose 
religious  zeal  was  an  over  match  for  his  discretion,  and 
like  certain  biblical  heroes,  he  could  ignore  human  impul- 
ses and  commit  an  atrocious  act  were  he  under  the  impres- 
sion that  by  so  doing  he  was  performing  the  Lord's  work 
or  serving  His  cause.  As  he  had  hitherto  done  little  either 
among  Catholics  in  Ireland  or  Hindoos  in  India,  he  now 
felt  it  his  duty  to  re-commence  an  agitation  against  Pope- 
ry. His  opinions  had  greatly  changed  as  to  the  method  of 
procedure  with  false  systems.  About  the  time  of  his 
ordination  he  believed  in  argument  and  moral  suasion, 
but  now  after  his  return  and  his  long  experience  he  was 
inclined  to  believe  that  where  rejison  and  argument  were 
ineffective  to  crush  down  error,  actual  force  if  need  bo 
should  be  used.  And  though  he  was  ready  to  preach 
against  the  Inquisition  and  Papal  persecution,  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  use  any  means — even  the  most  violent— to 
undermine  Popery  and  to  prostrate  the  man  of  sin.  The 
pure  gospel  he  believed  could  and  would  do  much,  and 
faith  aloue  could  remove  mountains.  There  was  a  time 
in  his  life  when  Seth  Graham  verily  believed  that 
prayer  with  faith  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  ac- 
complish anything— even  to  enable  the  believing  Chris- 
tian to  perform  actual  miracles  — to  walk  upon  the 
water,  to  remove  the  mountains,  or  to  raise  the  dead. 
He  had  known  many  sterling  believers  who  would  exult- 
ingly  tell  of  the  faith  "  of  Gideon,  and  of  Barak,  and  of 
Sampson,  and  of  Jeptha ;  of  David  also,  and  Samuel,  and 
of  the  prophets,"  and  who  at  the  same  time  believed  that 
the  promise  was  still  for  them,  and  that,  even  in  these 
latter  times,  they  could  through  faith,  quench  the  violence 
of  fire,  escape  the  edge  of  the  sword,  and  put  to  flight 
armies  of  aliens— but  alas !  in  his  long  experience  the  reli- 
ance of  Seth  Graham  had  been  somewhat  shaken,  for  ho 
had  seen  many  of  such  who,  while  vainly  hoping  to  the  last, 
still  "died  in  the  faith,  not  having  received  the  promises." 


^i.iW, 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


237 


P: 


It  was  to  him,  then,  one  of  the  moat  perplexing  myste- 
ries of  theology  why  there  should  be  promises  so  positive 
and  yet  so  unreliable.  Had  he  not  prayed  for  the  down- 
fall of  Popery,  for  the  conversion  of  the  heathen,  and  for 
the  speedy  and  general  spread  of  the  gospel— all  as  it 
seemed  to  little  purpose.  Popery,  he  admitted,  appeared 
to  be  sinking  under  the  weight  of  its  own  infamy,  but  as 
for  the  real  and  permanent  conversion  of  Pagans,  notwith- 
standing all  that  had  been  done  he  had  but  little  hopes ; 
and  though  he  still  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  frequent 
prayer,  and  had  still  some  trust  in  gospel  promises,  he  was 
verily  of  opinion  that  other  means  were  necessary,  and  in 
order  to  remove  the  mountain,  faith  must  be  aided  by 
some  lever  more  powerful  than  an  ordinary  invocation. 
These  were  his  own  private  views  which  It  would  never, 
never  answer  to  publish  to  the  world.  Esoteric  opinions 
so  dangerous  might  be  whispered  only  to  certain  of  the 
Initiated ;  he  was  cautious  enough  to  breathe  them  only  to 
his  wife. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Anne,"  he  continued,  addressing  Mrs. 
Graham,  "  forbearance  may  be  a  virtue,  but  after  one  ex- 
hausts every  text  in  the  Bible  against  Popery,  and  finds  it 
to  little  purpose,  I  believe  In  taking  other  means.  I  don't* 
rogret  thg  killing  off  of  a  score  or  two  of  Papists  should  It 
serve  as  an  example— they  were  the  aggressors.  I  don't 
care  for  the  destruction  of  their  Mass  House  If  It  Is  likely 
to  effect  any  good  ;  and  I  wouldn't  care  a  straw  if,  before 
the  next  Twelfth  of  July,  every  Popish  temple  In  the  king- 
dom was  tumbled  to  the  ground.  That's  the  il^^tit  way  to 
deal  with  false  systems.  Psha !  for  prayer  and  moral  force 
with  such  glaring  frauds  on  Christianity!  Naked  heath- 
enism is  nearer  the  truth."* 

"But  that's  not  the  scriptural  way, Seth,  to  deal  with 
error,"  said  his  wife  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproof. 

'*Yes,  yes,  tho  scriptural  way,  the  true  Bible  method," 
retorted  Mr.  Graham,  "The  only  way  to  eradicate  evil 
sometimes  is  to  destroy  it  root  and  branch." 

*  See  Note  U. 


h  1  > 


it 


J'' 


THE  HEATHEN8  OP  THE  HEATH. 

*'  I  doubt  It,  Seth,  I  doubt  it ;  God  would  be  more  mer- 
ciful," again  urged  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Would  He  ?  Through  the  mouth  of  Moses  did  not  the 
Lord  God  say  to  idolators :  *  They  have  moved  me  to  jeal- 
ousy with  that  which  is  not  God ;  they  have  provoked  mo 
to  anger  with  their  vanities :  For  a  fire  is  Icindled  In  mine 
anger,  and  shall  burn  unto  the  lowest  hell,  and  shall  con- 
sume the  earth  with  her  increase,  and  set  on  fire  the 
foundations  of  the  mountains.  I  will  heap  mischief  upon 
them ;  I  will  spend  mine  arrows  upon  them.  They  ahall  be 
burnt  with  liunger,  and  devoured  with  burning  heat,  and 
with  bitter  destruction.  I  will  also  send  the  teeth  of 
beasts  upon  them,  with  the  poison  of  serpents  of  the  dust. 
The  sword  without  and  terror  within,  shall  destroy  both 
the  young  man  and  the  virgin,  tiie  suckling  also  with  the 
man  of  grey  hairs.'*  There's  scripture  for  you,  wife. 
What  can  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"If  it  is,  Seth,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  after  a  little  reflec- 
tion, "the  Lord  is  patient  and  long  suffering.  It  is  not 
His  pleasure  to  destroy." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  Mr.  Graham  sharply.  "  Let  us  see. 
How  did  he  treat  the  rebellious  under  Korah,  Dathan,  and 
Abiram  ?  '  The  earth  opened  her  mouth  and  swallowed 
them  up.  And  there  came  out  a  fire  from  the  Lord  and 
consumed  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  that  offered  in- 
cense.'t  And  those  of  the  congregation  that  afterwards 
murmured  against  Moses  for  this  dispensation  were  cut 
off  at  once  by  a  plague  to  the  number  of  fourteen  thous- 
and seven  hundred."J  He  paused  for  a  moment,  but  his 
wife  made  no  reply.  "And  further,"  continued  he,  "  did 
not  the  Lord  order  the  destruction  of  the  Midianites? 
Hear  the  word :  'And  the  Lord  spake  unto  Moses,  saying, 
Avenge  the  children  of  Israel  of  the  Midianites.  And  they 
warred  against  the  Midianites  as  the  Lord  commanded 
Moses;  and  they  slew  ail  the  males.    And  they  slew  the 


*  Deuteronomy.  Ohap.  89,  v.  ai  to  a$. 
t  Numbers,  Chap.  16,  v.  9i  and  85. 
I  Numbers,  Ohap.  16,49. 


HI 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


2:ja 


f 


klriRS  of  Mldian,  besides  the  rest  of  them  that  were  shiin ; 
namely  Evi,  and  Rekem,  and  Zur,  and  Har,  and  Reba,  11  vo 
kings  of  Mldian :  Balaam  also  the  son  of  Beor  they  slew 
with  the  sword.  And  the  children  of  Israel  took  all  the 
women  of  Mldian  cai)tlve8,  and  their  little  ones,  and  took 
the  spoil  of  all  their  cattle,  and  all  their  flocks,  and  all  their 
goods.  And  they  burnt  all  their  cities  wherein  they  dwelt 
and  all  their  goodly  castles,  with  tire.'  This,  Anne,  was 
the  Lord's  method  of  retaliation ;  even  afterwards  when 
the  conquerors  returned  to  the  presen'ce  of  Moses  ho  ask- 
ed them:  "Have  ye  saved  all  the  women  alive? 'and 
being  of  course  answered  in  the  affirmative,  what  was  the 
further  command?  'Now,  therefore,  kill  every  male 
among  the  little  ones,  and  kill  every  woman  that  hath 
known  man  by  lying  with  him.  But  all  the  women-child- 
ron  that  have  not  known  a  man,  by  lying  with  him,  keep 
alive  for  yourselves.'*  There,  Anne,  that's  scripture  also, 
and  none  can  deny  it,  and  if,  to  a  limited  ext -ut,  following 
tho  example  of  the  select  children  of  God,  wo  had  destroy- 
ed in  self-defence  a  score  or  so  of  idolatrous  papists,  and 
burnt  one  of  their  strongholds,  I  ask  if  we  have  not  suffi- 
cient authority  for  cutting  off  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  and 
of  his  people  ?  " 

After  another  pause  Mrs.  Graham  slowly  replied :  "Yet 
I  would  in  these  days  let  the  Lord,  if  He  so  wills,  be  His 
own  avenger." 

"In  these  days?"  sharply  replied  Mr.  Graham,  who 
seemed  to  grow  more  determined.  "All  time  is  alike  to 
the  Lord ;  He  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever, 
without  variableness  or  shadow  of  turning,  and  what  He 
did  in  olden  time  He  will  do  again.  He  cared  not  to  show 
relenting  pity  to  transgressors— He  gave  them  tho  full 
measure  of  justice.  His  command  is  positive :  'And  thino 
eye  shall  not  pity,  hut  life  shall  go  for  life,  eye  for  eye, 
tooth  for  tooth,  hand  for  hand,  foot  for  foot.'t    The  thoua- 


I 


*  Numbers.  Chap.  31  to  y.  18. 
t  Deuter.  Obap.  19,  v.  ai. 


■!i ,  «'ill 


240 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  Hii^ATH. 


I   4 


ands  slaughtered  under  Moses,  and  Aaron,  and  Joshua, 
besides  tliose  under  David  and  Solomon,  and  others  of  his 
pious  servants,  were  cut  off  as  a  necessity.  The  Lord 
knew  best  how  to  deal  with  His  enemies  when  He  com- 
manded 'But  thou  shalt  utterly  destroy  them,  namely,  the 
Hittites  and  the  Amorites,  the  Canaanites,  and  the  Periz- 
zites,  the  Hivites,  and  the  Jebusites,  as  the  Lord  thy  God 
hath  commanded  thee.'*  Terrible  as  the  unsanctifled 
declare  these  mandates,  the  Lord  well  knew  that  showing 
mercy  to  enemies  is  often  the  grossest  injustice  towards 
friends.'* 

Poor  Mrs.  Graham  listened  in  silence,  she  made  no 
reply,  she  dared  not  exclaim  against  the  dreadful  quota- 
tions she  had  lust  heard ;  she  dared  not  murmur  against 
the  very  words  of  inspiration.  Though  the  record  seemed 
inhuman,  she  would  fain  believe  that  the  Lord  was  after 
all  of  more  tender  mercy  and  compassion  than  even  the 
word  itself  had  made  Him.  And  struggling  between  her 
humanity  and  her  creed— between  her  benevolent  impul- 
ses and  her  rigid  faith— she  could  have  wept  that  those 
unfortuately  in  error  and  unbelief,  were  still  under  the 
curses  of  the  law  and  doomed  to  an  eternity  of  misery. 

Mr.  Graham,  noticing  her  depression,  continued  in  a 
milder  tone : 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Anne,  these  denunciations  may  seem 
hard,  but  are  nbt  the  words  of  the  Lord  as  wise  as  they 
are  inscrutable  ?  ^It  the  heart  becomes  like  tfdamant,  it 
must  be  broken  by  heavy  strokes ;  if  line  upon  line,  and 
precept  upon  precept  remain  unheeded,  other  means  must 
be  used  to  overthrow  error.  It  has  been  so  from  the 
beginning,  and  will  be  so  to  the  end  of  time.  Why,  one 
might  have  preached  for  an  eternity  in  India,  and  the 
Suttee  would  still  remain  an  established  usage,  were  it  not 
for  the  penalties  of  a  prohibitory  law ;  and  here  in  Ire- 
land we  may  scatter  Bibles  and  tracts  by  the  thousand, 
and  the  abominations  of  Popery  will  continue  unless  true 

*  Deuter..  Chap.  ao.  v.  n. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


241 


believers,  and  loyal  men,  rise  in  their  might  and  crush 
them  under  foot." 

During  most  of  this  conversation,  Sheva  remained  sit- 
ting on  the  carpet,  and  her  l^r^e,  lustrous  eyes  seemed 
occasionally  to  grow  larger  while  hearing  a  rehearsal  of 
barbarities  such  as  shocked  her  naturally  tender  feelings. 
For  Mrs.  Graham,  she  had  a  warm  affection,  but  the  cold, 
harsh,  stern  manner  of  Mr.  Graham  caused  her  to  feel  at 
times  a  dread  of  his  presence;  for  lately  he  had  grown 
indifferent  toward  the  little  foreigner,  and  his  treatment 
of  her  was  sometimes  more  than  unkind,  as  if  she  had 
become  a  useless  burden.  Whatever  means  had  been 
taken  to  induce  Sheva  to  leave  her  home,  the  girl  now 
appeared  to  have  discovered  that  she  had  done  very 
wrong,  and  at  times  she  cried  bitterly  for  her  parents, 
uttering  their  names  in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  and 
pleading  to  be  taken  home  again.  While  she  had  the  com- 
panionship of  the  Hindoo  boy,  Hemar,  to  whom  "he  was 
much  attached,  she  did  not  complain  so  often,  but  since 
the  disappearance  of  him  and  his  aunt,  she  had  become 
more  discontented,  and  were  it  not  for  the  motherly  kind- 
ness of  Mrs.  Graham,  she  would  have  been  very  unhappy. 
Even  as  it  was,  the  minister's  wife  regretted  the  part  she 
had  once  conscientiously  taken  in  aiding  to  induce  Sheva 
to  leave  her  native  country,  and  were  an  opportunity  to 
offer,  she  would  now  have  willingly  made  a  sacrifice  to 
send  her  back. 

After  Mr.  Graham  had  ceased  to  quote  any  further 
Scriptural  denunciations  against  the  so-called  enemies  of 
the  Lord,  Mrs.  Graham,  who  had  noticed  Sheva's  disqui- 
etude, took  her  hand  and  led  her  out  of  the  room  into 
another  apartment.  Sheva  had  a  little  room  to  herself, 
up  stairs,  and  there  she  and  Mrs.  Graham  often  sat 
together.  Mrs.  Graham,  who  took  an  interest  in  trying  to 
explain  the  Scriptures  to  her  young  charge,  often  found  it 
difBcult  to  satisfy  her  curious  iniiuiries  on  theologicjil 
subjects.  The  Parsee  girl  was  very  shrewd  and  intelli- 
gent for  her  age,  and  though  inclined  to  confide  much  io 


A,, 


u 


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I 

t 

I 


i7?,ffii 


2^2 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


what  Mrs.  Graham  might  tell  her,  she  was  still  very  criti- 
cal, and  often  expressed  her  dissatisfaction  with  the  cx- 
plpnation  which  she  had  heard  offered.  Mrs.  Graham 
cat  down,  and  Sheva,  being  close  to  her,  as  usual,  said, 
after  a  few  moments'  thought, 

**  O,  ma,  how  can  I  love  your  God  any  longer,  how  can 
I,  after  all  father  has  just  said;  isn't  He  a  very  cruel 
God?" 

**  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  rather  surprised,  "  you 
must  not  speak  that  way,  God  is  very  good,  very  good 
indeed.    It  would  bo  terrible  not  to  love  God." 

"No,  ma,  He  is  not  good,"  continued  Sheva,  "for  if 
He  was  good.  He  would  not  kill  so  many  poor  people,  and 
He  would  not  kill  poor  little  children,  and  little  girls,  an(". 
burn  der  houses ;  I  could  not  love  you  at  all,  if  you  were 
as  bad  as  your  God  is." 

"Dear  child,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "do  not 
say  that,  for  if  you  do,  God  will  be  very  angry,  and  punish 
you  severely." 

"Why  should  He  be  angry  with  me  ?"  said  Sheva,  "  it 
seems  to  me  dat  He  is  angry  all  de  time.  I  never  did 
God  any  harm.  Your  God  is  bad,  for  Ho  won't  forgive 
wicked  people,  but  burn  dem  up  for  ever,  and  over,  and 
ever;  I  could  not  be  as  bad  as  dat,  you  couUl  not,  for  I'm 
sure  you  could  forgive  dem  sometime— sooner,  you  know, 
dan  de  long  forever." 

"O!  Sheva,  Sheva,"  said  the  almost  alarmed  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, "  do  not  speak  so ;  Go.d  is  worthy  of  all  your  love, 
and  of  my  love;  He  is  better  than  any  one;  no  matter 
what  He  does,  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

"  Ma,"  rei>lied  Sheva,  "  you  know  it  is  not  for  de  best 
to  burn  poor  people  down  in  dat  bad  place,  called  hell, 
that  Christians  ta!k  so  much  about.  I  heard  some  Chris- 
tian ladies  say  dat  dere  would  be  no  good  people  in  do 
world  only  for  hell;  and  dat  God  made  dat  horrid  place. 
Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  Christian  any  longer;  some 
Christians  are  not  like  you,  ma,  but  are  very  b^d  people." 

"Not  a  Christian,  Sheva  I"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  still 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


213 


more  alarmed,  "  not  a  Christian!  O  Siiova,  Sheva,  unless 
you  are  a  Christian,  you  can  never  get  to  heaven." 

"If  dey  was  all  like  you,  ma,"  said  Sheva,  "I  might 
remain  a  Christian,  but  you  know  Christians  are  very, 
very  wicked,  not  so  good  as  Parsees  or  Hindoos,  and  I 
don't  tink  dat  your  God  is  as  good  as  de  great  Ormuzd. 
Christians  fight,  and  get  drunk,  and  steal,  and  kill  one 
anoder  like  dey  did  yesterday.  Tf  Christians  was  as 
good  as  Parsees,  dere  would  not  be  so  many  beggais  in 
de  streets,  and  so  many  poor  hungry  people  going  about 
who  have  no  houses  of  dcrown;  and  so  many  little  girls 
and  boys,  not  so  big  as  I  am, -going  about  in  rags,  who 
have  no  friends  to  get  dem  anything  to  eat.  O,  ma,  I  do 
pity  dese  poor  little  Christians,  but  it  seems  to  me  dat 
de  rich  Christian  ladies,  who  come  to  our  church,  with 
such  fine  clothes,  don't  care  for  dese  little  ones.  If  none 
but  Christians  can  get  to  heaven,  I  don't  want  to  go  dere 
-^t  must  be  a  very  wicked  place." 

"  Sheva,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  more  seriously,  *'  you  are 
really  wicked  to  talk  that  way.  Heaven  is  a  beautiful 
place,  where  God  lives  with  all  His  angels  and  saints,  and 
with  all  the  good  Christian  people  that  have  ever  lived, 
Heaven  is  God's  great  throne,  surrounded  by  the  blest 
and  the  redeemed  of  all  nations  and  tribes.  Neither  wicked 
peoi)le  nor  idolators  can  dver  enter  that  blissful  abode. 
O  Sheva,  you  must  never  again  be  a  Parsee,  they  are  idol- 
ators, anfl  worship  wood  and  stone ;  it  would  be  better  to 
be  the  poorest  Christian  beggar,  for  such  get  to  heaven 
where  thair  sorrows  are  ended  and  where  their  tears  are 
dried  forever." 

"No,  ma,"  replied  Sheva,  solemnly,  "the  Parsees  do 
not  worship  idols,  dey  bow  to  de  sun,  dat  gives  us  light, 
and  to  fire.  My  own  pa,  in  Bombay,  never  told  me  to  bow 
to  an  idol  or  an  imago.  Fader  Gramo  has  what  he  says 
are  Hindoo  idols,  but  if  Christians  are  not  idolators,  what 
is  dis?"  The  girl  quickly  placed  a  large  fami|,y  Bible 
on  the  floor,  and  she  stood  upon  the  book  to  enable  her  to 
reach  a  crucifix  which  Mr.  Graham  had  brought  with  him 


,:V 


241 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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as  a  kind  of  trophy  from  the  south  of  Ireland.  The  wood 
wa.s  black  ebony,  and  the  image  pure  silver :  "and  here, 
too,  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  child,  and  here  is  a  pic- 
ture of  a  saint,  and  here  is  a  bottle  of  holy " 

"  Sheva,  Sheva,  for  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  hurriedly 
pushing  the  girl  aside,  *'  for  shame,  see  what  youv'e  done ! 
Why  do  you  stand  on  the  Bible,  God's  Holy  Word?" 
Mrs.  Graham  raised  the  large  book  reverently ;  her  face 
was  slightly  flushed  with  anger,  and  poor  Slieva  stood 
abashed — she  scarcely  understood  the  nature  of  her  of- 
fence. '*  See,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham,  "  this  is  the  Holy 
Bible  that  you  have  been  standing  on— a  thing  you  should 
never  have  done.  But  then,  child,"  said  she,  calming 
down  to  her  usual  mild  way,  "  you  scarcely  knew  the  dif- 
ference; yet  remember  for  the  future,  that  this  is  our 
Sacred  Book,  which  should  be  ever  treated  with  the  most 
profound  respect — it  is  God's  revealed  will  to  fallen  man, 
of  priceless  value.  But,  Sheva,  those  things  that  you  call 
Christian  idols,  are  Popish,  which  some  Catholics  almost 
worship;  and,  my  dear,  remember  also,  that  Catholics 
are  not  true  Christians— they  are  little  better  than  idola- 
ters.". 

The  Parsee  girl  was  sorely  puzzled ;  she  had  heard  Mr. 
Graham  say,  time  after  time,  that  Catholics  were  idola- 
ters, that  the  Protestant  State*  Church  was  a  fraud,  and 
that  Baptists,  and  Methodists,  and  others  wej'e  semi- 
Popish  and  unscriptural ;  and  hearing  these  sayings  often 
repeated,  she,  as  yet,  did  not  understand  what  true  Chris- 
tianity really  was.  Poor  Sheva,  wishing,  however,  to 
make  some  amends  for  her  mistake,  rubbed  the  cover  of 
the  large  book  with  a  cloth,  she  then  carefully  opened  it, 
and  on  the  leaf  opposite  to  the  title-page  there  was  dis- 
played a  fine  engraving  of  the  crucifixion  in  the  same 
Protestant  Bible.  Sheva  had  not  seen  it  before,  and  Mrs. 
Graham,  who  stood  at  her  side,  seemed  a  little  confused 
at  the  discovery.  It  then  flashed  upon  the  mind  of  the  , 
girl  that  this  great  book  must  be  some  kind  of  a  Protest- 
ant idol,  and  though  she  made  no  remark,  she  wondered 


^> 


A 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


245 


why  the  picture  of  an  object  of  Catholic  worship  should 
be  permitted  to  adorn  its  pages. 

The  clouds  had  at  last  disappeared,  and  the  evening 
sun  shone  into  the  little  room,  ther^was  a  lulling  sound 
from  the  busy  town,  and  Mrs.  Graham,  in  this  quiet  time, 
sat  dozing  in  an  arm  chair.  Sheva,  from  the  ivied  win- 
dow, looked  beyond  the  brigntened  summit  of  Cave  Hill, 
and  out  upon  the  golden  sea,  and  beyond  the  ocean  leagues 
that  separated  her  from  India,  and  from  those  she  loved. 
Child  as  she  was  in  a  strange  land,  the  most  touching 
memories  led  her  again  to  her  distant  home,  she  saw  her 
forlorn  parents,  and  in  the  very  fulness  of  her  heart  she 
wept  aloud. 

Mrs.  Graham  started  up.  "  Why,  you're  weeping  again, 
poor  child,"  said  the  affectionate  woman,  with  eyes  al- 
ready suffused.    "  May  God  comfort  you !  " 

"O,  ma»"  said  Sheva,  throwing  herself  into  her  arms, 
"take  me  home,  won't  you  take  me  home  ?  Shall  I  never 
see  them  again  V  My  poor  mother  is  weeping ;  my  father 
is  sorrowful ;  oh  take  me  home,  take  me  home,  good  ma, 
or  I  shall  soon  die  here!  " 

"Stay,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  hurriedly,  "here  is  a 
carriage  driving  up  to  the  house."  Mr.  Graham  also  saw 
it  from  the  lower  room.  Sheva,  on  looking  out  again,  saw 
a  gentleman  step  down  from  the  vehicle  and  approach  the 
door;  she  had  a  glance  at  the  person,  and  thrubt  her 
head  out  still  farther.  In  a  moment  or  two  afterward, 
she  sprung  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  her  large  eyes 
had  a  sttange  light,  she  gave  a  kind  of  scream,  as  she 
rushed  down  stairs,  and,  just  as  the  stranger  entered,  sin 
knelt  before  him,  and  clutched  his  knees,  and,  without 
uttering  a  word,  she  looked  up  with  pleading,  streaming 
eyes  into  the  benevolent  face  of  John  Valiant. 


I 

■i..} 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


AN  EBBING  SHEPHEBD. 


rpHE  Summer  moonbeams  appeared  to  slumber  upon 
-*-  Pendell  Bay,  and  the  stars  seemed  to  be  listlessly 
gazing  down  upon  the  bosom  of  the  tranquil  deep,  in 
which  they  were  now  but  faintly  reflected.  The  light- 
house was  like  a  misty  spectre  upon  the  shining  waters, 
and  might  remain  unperceived  were  it  not  for  its  occa- 
sional flash,  which  was,  however,  almost  eclipsed  by  a 
moonlight  nearly  as  bright  as  day.  The  distant  mountain 
looked  like  a  pearly  cloud ;  and  the  island  and  the  ships, 
now  dimly  seen  far  out,  appeared  to  be  like  luminous 
spirit  forms  at  rest  in  some  haven  of  glory.  Even  the 
very  air  was  in  rejjose ;  and  the  ripples  that  played  along 
th3  gravelly  shore  were  now  scarcely  audible. 

The  scene  was  calmly  beautiful,  one  in  which  the  lover 
of  nature  might  truly  delight;  one  upon  which  those  who 
had  been  for  years  tossed  about  by  the  storms  of  life, 
might  look  with  longing  eyes,  as  if  obtaining  at  last  a 
glimpse  of  the  promised,  peaceful  hereafter.  It  was  a  soft 
picture  of  earthly  quietude  which  might  easily  lead  the  r 
fanciful  invalid  to  dream  of  heaven,  or  the  pious  hopeful 
sufferer,  to  speculate  upon  the  sublime  and  glorious  seen- 
ery  of  the  land  of  the  blest.  And,  at  that  mystic  time, 
one  indeed  might  have  readily  imagined  that  Night  had 
stepped  down  from  her  "ebon  throne,"  eager  to  be  trans- 
formed into  Day,  and  that  she  had  already  donned  tho 
fragrant  spangled  robe  of  Dawn. 


I\ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


247 


It  is  said  that  natural  scenery,  either  calm,  beautiful, 
or  grand,  would  be  entirely  without  value,  were  there  no 
appreciative  observer.  The  moon-lit  lake,  the  shaded 
vale,  the  towering  mountain,  and  the  ocean  tempest,  inca- 
pable of  thought  in  themselves,  still  generate  the  most 
sublime  ideas  in  the  mind  of  a  spectator ;  and  unless  there 
were  some  mirror  of  intelligence  in  whichr  these  could  be 
reflected,  the  world  might  as  well  be  one  vast  waste,  or 
the  earth  might  still  remain  in  its  alleged  original  state, 
"  without  form  and  void." 

But  there  was  one  observer  this  night  that  had  looked, 
time  after  time,  upon  Pendell  Bay  in  calm  and  in  storm- 
one  who  could  enjoy  the  quiet  moonlight  scenery,  and  the 
placid  surface  of  the  deep,  or  hear  with  ecstacy  the  roar 
of  the  storm,  or  look  with  fearless  eye  upon  the  madden- 
ed waves,  as  they  thundered  wildly  against  the  rocky 
coast.  Esther  Meade,  seated  upon  an  elevated  spot,  had 
a  fine  view  of  the  spacious  bay,  but  even  at  that  witching 
hour,  she  seemed  to  pay  but  little  heed  to  the  attractive 
picture ;  her  mind  was  so  pre-ooeupied,  that  she  gazed  as 
if  entirely  indilTerent  to  all  but  one  diminutive  point  upon 
the  horizon.  This  night  she  had  visited  the  ancient 
church  with  her  faithful  attendant,  old  Stephen,  and  had 
spent  over  an  hour  at  her  favorite  relaxation  on  the  organ, 
and  after  she  had  separated  from  hi<n,  she  wandered 
alone,  as  usual,  to  her  chosen  retreat  by  the  sea. 

It  was  a  time  for  (luiet  thought  or  for  deeper  meditation 
and  Miss  Meade  now  seemed  to  ponder  upon  some  subject 
thoroughly  engrossing.  O(iea.sionaily  as  she  gazed  out, 
her  look  would  seetn  trouVded*  and  a  aivvn  expression 
would  mark  her  features.  One  might  think  that  her  quiet 
and  retired  manner  of  life  should  lenvc  her  tolerably  free 
from  care,  but  under  a  calm  exterior  she  had  an  active 
mind.  She  often  thou>;ht  of  her  faih^'r's  circumstances, 
of  her  brother  in  a  foreign  land,  and  very  often  of  her 
own  future.  She  well  knew  that  the  humble  stipend  which 
her  father  received  for  his  services,  with  the  small  amount 
which  she  was  enabled  to  earn,  was  scarcely  more  than 


248 


9B£  BEAtBEKS  Of  TBE  BEaTB. 


a 


II  ~i 


j 


sufficient  to  keep  up  that  appearance  of  respectability 
which  their  position  required;  she  knew  that  in  a  few 
years  her  father  would  fa?l  through  age,  and  be  rendered 
unable  to  perform  the  required  duties  of  parish  curate ; 
and  then  she  thought  of  the  sad  possibility  of  his  death, 
or  of  his  dismissal  by  the  mere  whim  of  an  exacting 
rector— the  Rector!  She  now  thought  of  the  man  with 
increasing  distrust,  with  positive  dislike,  which,  on  her 
father's  account,  she  was  forced  to  hide.  She  liad  sulli- 
cient  reason  to  distrust  his  seeming  regard  for  her  father, 
and  sufficient  evidence  to  suspect  the  attentions  which  he 
was  forward  enough  to  pay  to  herself.  There  was  a  time 
when  this  very  rector  cared  not  to  pay  a  pastoral  visit  to 
Pendell  for  months  together ;  but  now,  though  a  pluralist, 
he  had  neglected  his  other  parishes  and  devoted  nearly  all 
his  spare  time  to  this  retired  place.  He  had  lately  visited 
this  favored  spot  about  once  in  two  weeks,  to  the  surprise 
of  many ;  and  when  he  did  come,  he  usually  sought  the 
society  of  Miss  Meade,  paid  her  many  compliments,  aud 
oven  made  use  of  certain  tender  expressions,  which  were 
too  significant  to  be  misunderstood,  and  which,  more  than 
once,  caused  the  flush  of  anger  to  become  plainly  visible 
upon  her  face.  But  what  could  she  do  under  the  circ.im- 
stances  V  For  her  father's  sake,  she  was  obliged  to  dis- 
semble—an act  most  repugnant  to  her  nature.  Were  she 
to  insult  this  reverend  divine,  this  man  in  ecclesiastical 
authority,  from  whom  her  aged  parent  gained  his  living, 
her  father  might  be  cast  upon  an  uncharitable  world  in 
his  old  ago,  and  they  might  be  obliged  to  leave  their 
pleasant,  peaceful  home  together.  She  had  to  dissemble ! 
O!  what  would  she  not  have  given  to  be  able  to  exhibit 
that  contempt  for  this  rector  which  he  deserved!  It  was 
a  desperate  struggle  for  her  to  appear  unmoved  in  his 
presence.  There  were  moments  when  she  was  afraid  of 
betraying  herself  and  upbraiding  him  before  her  father; 
there  were  times  when  she  could  scarcely  keep  from  re- 
proaching him  even  in  church  before  the  whole  congrega- 
tion.   In  violence  to  her  feelings,  but  in  comiJliance  with 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


249 


the  urgent  request  of  her  father,  she  had  once  accepted 
an  invitation  from  the  rector's  wife,  and  had  spent  over  a 
week  in  London,  in  the  rector's  grand  house ;  had  sub- 
mitted to  the  patronizing  airs  of  this  condescending 
woman,  had  listened  to  the  pretty  inanities  of  the  rector 
himself,  and  had  at  last  been  obliged  to  accept  the  hand- 
some workbox  which  he  had  purchased  for  her.  Even  at 
that  time  she  had  her  suspicions  of  him ;  his  easy  plausi- 
bility might  have  deceived  some,  but  she  understood  him 
at  once ;  and  though  he  had  often  spoken  of  her  father  as 
one  for  whom  he  entertained  the  greatest  regard,  and  had 
expressed  his  intention  of  making  the  curacy  of  Pqj^dell 
more  serviceable  to  its  estimable  curate  than  it  ever  had 
been,  yet  as  time  passed,  she  became  more  confirmed  in 
the  belief  that  the  Rev.  George  Morton  was  a  heartless, 
treacherous  man  ;  and  though  the  calm  moonbeams  were 
still  before  her,  she  saw  in  the  future  the  portentous  storm 
cloud  that  was  likely  to  burst  over  the  unprotected  head 
of  her  father. 

As  the  rector's  visits  seemed  now  to  be  regularly  ex- 
pected, Miss  Meade  often  sought  excuses  to  go  from  home 
during  his  stay.  Though  she  wished  to  avoid  him,  she 
found  the  task  very  dilBicult,  for  were  she  anywhere  in  tho 
neighborhood,  he  would  be  sure  to  make  some  excuse  in 
order  to  find  her  out,  and  when  he  failed  to  succeed,  which 
was,  indeed,  seldom,  he  became  irritated  and  prolonged  his 
stay,  determined  to  meet  her,  and  sometimes  to  venture  a 
mild  reproach  for  her  indifference.  Some  began  to  think 
that  he  had  grown  tired  of  the  wild  bustle  of  London,  and 
that  he  might  possibly  make  his  home  at  Pendell.  Ho 
had  now  his  own  rooms  at  the  hotel ;  he  did  not  choose  to 
lodge  at  a  private  house,  but  was  ready  to  accept  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  Mr.  Meade— the  providing  of  a  suitable 
dinner  for  the  rector  was  a  severe  tax  upon  the  curate's 
resources— or  with  such  of  his  parishionerf  as  would  afford 
him  an  opportunity  of  meeting  the  curate  and  his  daugh- 
ter. He  sometimes  rode  to  Betnall  to  dine  with  Mr.  Rock- 
ctt,  his  brother  rector,  but  this  was  mostly  when  ho  was  on 


250 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


D  ' 


■\l 


'4 


-     ! 


hia  way  back  to  London ;  his  Sabbaths  were  generally 
spent  in  the  city. 

Ho  had,  however,  lately  been  absent  from  Pendell 
longer  than  usual,  and  Miss  Meade  had  begun  to  enter- 
tain some  hopes  that  they  would  not  be  troubled  with  him 
so  often.  During  the  rector's  last  visit,  slie  had  managed 
to  Iceep  entirely  out  of  his  way,  and  he  had,  she  liopcd, 
probably  begun  to  think  that  his  visits  at  his  Pendell 
parish  were  suspected  by  her  father,  as  well  as  by  herself; 
though  if  her  father  ever  had  a  thought  on  the  subject,  ho 
kept  it  to  himself,  as  he  did  many  other  troublesome  mat- 
tors.^  Any  way,  these  hopes  were  quickly  disappointed, 
for  Mr.  Morton  had  unexpectedly  arrived  that  evening; 
and  striving  to  avoid  him  if  possible,  she  had  stolen  away 
from  the  parsonage  at  an  early  hour,  and  went  to  spend  a 
while  with  old  Sarah  Afton;  then,  when  it  was  growing 
late,  she  left  Sarah's  cottage,  and  went  to  the  church  with 
old  Stephen,  and  having  indulged  for  some  time  upon  her 
favorite  instrument,  was  now  alone  gazing  vacantly  upon 
the  moon-lit  scene  before  her. 

But  not  altogether  did  this  disagreeable  subject  con- 
cerning the  rector,  occupy  the  mind  of  Esther  Meade, 
other  matters  of  a  more  pleasing  nature  engaged  her. 
She  had  heard  much  of  the  wonderful  improvements 
latel'  made  upon  the  Heath  property;  she  was  surprised 
at  the  almost  miraculous  change  in  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  once  wild  sot  who  had  infested  the  place, 
and  equally  suri)rised  to  learn  of  their  present  orderly 
and  contented  disposition ;  she  had  heard  of  the  intended 
restoration  of  the  Manor  House,  and  of  nearly  all  that  its 
humane  proprietor  had  done  and  proposed  to  do,  and  she 
had  heard  her  father,  and  old  Stephen,  and  Sarah,  and  in 
fact  every  one  that  knew  him,  not  only  mention  the  name 
of  John  Valiant  with  the  greatest  respect,  but  speak  of 
him  as  being  on§  of  the  noblest  individuals  living.  Under 
the  impression  that  there  might  possibly  be  some  exag- 
geration in  their  favorable  accounts,  she  had  determined 
to  satisfy  herself,  and  had  asked  old  Stephen  to  drive  her 


ti 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


251 


down  to  the  Heath  to  see  what  had  really  been  doue,  and 
she  hud  returned  pleased  and  <loli^'htod  at  the  change. 

Strange  to  say  that  though  Mr.  Valiant  had  been  at 
Pendeli  and  in  its  neighborhood  several  times,  she  had 
never  yet  seen  him.  He  had  once  called  at  the  parsonage 
but  she  was  then  absent  on  a  visit  at  the  rector's  in  Lon- 
don. She  had  often  turned  her  eyes  when  at  church 
expecting  to  see  him  enter,  but  he  never  came ;  and  as  yet 
neither  at  church  nor  anywhere  else  had  she  met  him,  and 
having  heard  so  much  in  his  favor  from  rich  and  from 
poor,  especially  from  those  who  were  considered  the  most 
destitute,  she  was  really  desirous  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  a  person  so  estimable ;  with  one  who  though  wealthy 
was  neither  purse-proud,  nor  ostentatious,  nor  indifferent 
to  the  necessities  of  others. 

Miss  Meade  having  a  great  regard  for  unselfish  people, 
could  not  avoid  drawing  a  comparison  between  the  Kev. 
George  Morton,  the  rich  rector  of  Pendeli,  with  his  three 
livings,  which  paid  him  nearly  four  thousand  pounds  a 
year,  clear  of  all  salaries  to  his  curates,  and  this  stranger 
whose  wealth  had  already  been  a  fountain  of  benevolence 
to  those  in  need.  She  well  Icnew  that  the  name  of  the 
rector  of  Pendeli,  as  well  as  that  of  Mr.  Ro(^kett,  the  rector 
of  Betnall,  had  been  despised  by  almost  all  upon  the 
Heath.  These  clergymen,  with  little  sympathy  for  distress 
and  less  charity  for  the  destitute,  were  even  now  anything 
but  favorites,  the  rector  of  Betnall  still  being  especially 
detested;  indeed  at  one  period  his  life  would  be  counted 
as  of  little  value  were  he  discovered  alone  in  that  region. 
As  ministers  of  the  Established  Church— the  true  church 
to  her— they  had  only  brout,ht  religion  into  contemi)t. 
And  then  she  began  to  wonder  why  it  was  that  that  Cii  urch 
wit'h  its  immense  wealth,  with  its  vast  endowments,  with 
its  titled  bishops,  its  numerous  clergy,  and  its  intluontiul 
adherents,  could  hcuve  allowed  such  a  place  of  infamy  as 
the  Heath  once  was,  to  exist  in  England.  From  her  (;hild- 
liood  she  had  heard  of  the  depredations  of  the  reckless 
peoi»lc  of  the  Heath,  she  hud  heard  of  their  poverty  and 


r  - 


252 


THE  HEATHEM3  OF  THE  HEATS. 


I 


't 


of  their  crime,  and  of  the  efTorts  which  a  few  benevolent 
people  had  occasionally  made  to  benefit  them ;  but  these 
efforts  had  for  some  reason  been  of  little  or  no  8orvi(!o. 
She  had  read  books  and  reports  on  the  state  of  the  heathen 
world,  and  had  read  heart  rendinpf  accounts  of  the  labors 
and  sufferings  of  missionaries  in  distant  lands,  and  of  the 
triumphant  successes  with  which  they  had  been  ultimate- 
ly crowned ;  and,  years  ago,  she  had  many  a  time  wonder- 
ed why  men,  said  to  be  so  truly  devoted  had  not  gone 
among  the  half-starved  heathen  of  the  Heath  for  the  i)ur- 
pose  of  winning  souls,  instead  of  going  thousands  of  miles 
away  to  try  and  gain  converts  among  the  well-fed  heathens 
of  Hindoostan.  She  had  reasonably  thought,  that  if 
obdurate  pagans  in  India  could  be  humani2<>d  and  Chris- 
tianized, that  a  few  score  of  British  heathen,  only  half  a 
day's  journey  from  St.  Paul's  Church  in  London,  might 
also  be  reclaimed.  She  Icnew  that  there  were  various  mis- 
sionary societies  throughout  England  ;  she  knew  that  her 
own  chur(!h  had  annually  collected  vast  sums  in  order 
that  the  gospel  might  be  sent  to  pagans  afar  off,  even 
while  the  unfortunates  on  the  Heath,  as  well  as  a  similar 
class  in  other  parts  of  England,  were  almost  totally 
neglected  and  forgotten.  For  years  she  had  heard, 
through  pulpit  and  through  press,  of  the  great  endeavors 
of  the  Christian  Church  to  make  known  the  plan  of  salva- 
tion to  unbelievers,  and  through  those  long  years  she  and 
her  poor  father  had  known  of  those  suffering  people  on 
the  Heath,  and  had  many  a  time  made  appeals  for  them 
to  wealthy  Christian's,  but  she  had  learned  from  long 
experience  that  so  long  as  India,  and  China,  and  Japan, 
and  the  South  Sea  Islands,  stood  in  the  way,  and  loomed 
up  before  imaginative  missionaries,  little  need  be  f^xpo  led 
for  those  socially  and  morally  degraded  at  '  But 

what  a  change  during  the  last  few  months!  .o  wat?  a 
people  long  trodden  under  foot,  long  despiscu,  <»ngp  ;id 
to  be  too  vicious  ever  to  be  reclaimed  by  ordinary  metl  xls 
now  so  chan.f?ed  and  impi'ovod  as  scarcely  to  be  recognized , 
and  this,  too,  all  the  work  of  one  benevolent  man,  without 


THtt  fiEATQBKS  09  THE  BEATtf. 


m 


*  9 


the  aid  or  endorsemont  of  any  great  missionary  society, 
without  tho  assistance  of  one  "duly  authorized,"  save  by 
those  whom  he  himself  had  raised  as  it  v/ere  from  the 
course  clay,  into  whom  he  had  breathed  human  Ideas,  and 
to  whom  in  duo  time  he  had  given  his  own  si)eclal  ordina- 
tion. 

But  what  had  the  clergy  of  her  church,  as  a  body,  ever 
done  for  the  perishing  British  heathen  ?  She  might  have 
answered:  Aljsolutely  nothing!  She  had  been  informed 
of  the  visit  of  tho  Bishop  of  Storkchester  to  the  Heath— of 
this  tiis  first  missiomiry  attempt— of  his  altercation  with 
the. old  gypsy  woman,  and  of  tliiS  worse  than  useless  cleri- 
cal excursion  of  ids  Right  Keverenco,  his  Lordship,  his 
chaplains,  and  the  other  clergy.  She  hud  heard  of  Zln- 
gari's  strange  predictions,  btit  had  treate<l  tliem  as  the 
aljsurd  threats  or  warnings  of  the  professed  fortune  teller 
of  wandering  tribes;  tiiat  which  her  father  had,  however, 
related  as  to  wliat  ho  had  seen  In  the  little  mirror— the 
likeness  of  her  brother— held  before  him  by  tho  old  gypsy 
woman,  caused  her  no  little  surprise.  She  was  by  no 
means  what  is  commonly  understood  as  superstitious ;  no 
believer  in  si>iritual  quackery,  but  she  well  knew  that  her 
father  was  neither  credulous  nor  easily  deceived,  and  that 
ho  would  for  no  consideration  make  such  a  statement  to 
her,  or  to  any  one  else,  if  he  did  not  believe  in  what  he 
had  seen ;  as  it  was  ho  seemed  reluctant  to  mention  tho 
circumstance,  but  as  the  renown  of  the  visit  of  the  clergy 
and  of  what  had  taken  place,  had  reached  her  through 
other  sources,  she  had  prevailed  upon  her  father  to  give 
her  a  more  particular  account  of  what  had  occurred. 

While  dwelling  upon  this  singular  circumstance,  and 
wondering  by  whfit  means,  natural  or  unnatural,  the  fea- 
tures of  her  brother,  as  well  as  those  of  other  persons  had 
been  produced  In  Zingari's  mirror,  she  was  startled  by  the 
appearance  of  tho  long  shadow  of  a  human  form  which 
gradually  approached  from  behind.  She  turned  quickly 
ar  nnd,  and  there  stood  the  dark  figure  of  a  man,  as  if 
hesitating  to  take  another  step  towards  her ;  his  features 


w 


fm 


m<., 


r'^ 


\^ 


\-m 


254 


THB  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


were  visible,  and  though  there  was  a  smile  to  be  seen  on 
them,  it  was  ghastly  in  the  moonlight.  She  knew  the  i  er 
son  and  her  first  impulse  was  to  rush  past  him  and  speed 
home,  but  her  pride  and  self-confidence  held  her  to  the 
spot,  and  without  an  exclaimation,  or  a  single  word,  she 
stood  up  and  looked  sternly  at  the  intruder ;  she  had  little 
fear  at  the  moment. 

"Ah!  fair  truant,  you  have  not  escaped  me  this  time! 
I  would  iiave  traced  you  ten  times  as  far ;  and  here  you  are 
alone  by  the  sea,  or  rather  we  are  here  alone,  just  as  I  would 
have  it.  Oh  fair  queen !  verily  you  look  like  one  at  pres- 
ent. I  can  scarcely  find  words  to  utter  a  reproach,  but, 
pretty  wanderer,  I  ought  to  find  fault  with  you ;  how  sel- 
dom I  have  found  an  opportunity  of  expressing  my  admir- 
ation for  the  loveliest  of  her  sex ;  one  to  me  more  beauti- 
ful than  that  picture  of  serenity  around  us  would  be  to  the 
3yo  of  a  poet." 

The  Rev.  George  Morton  then  raised  his  hat,  made  a 
profound  bow,  and  stepped  closer  to  Esther  Meade,  whom 
he  had  thus  addressed. 

"You  are  the  rector  of  Pendell,"  said  she,  standing 
before  him,  "  I  am  the  curate's  daughter.  We  are  here 
alone,  and  you  would  take  advantage  of  that  circumstance 
to  address  me  in  manner  as  you  have.  I  shall  take  ad  van* 
tage  of  this  same  to  speak  freely  for  once  and  tell  you, 
that  though  you  do  not  deceive  me,  you  impose  upon  your- 
self when  you  fancy  that  I  can  regard  your  words  as  other 
than  offensive." 

"Offensive?  Great  Heavens!  Offend  you?  No,  not 
for  a  thousand  worlds,"  replied  the  persistent  rector. 
"Only  tell  me,  fair  tormentor,  how,  or  whore,  I  can  un- 
bunlen  my  heart— a  heart  that  has  long  been  yours— S(» 
that  my  ardent  words,  without  provoking  your  gentlest 
anger  may  make  even  a  faint  impression  on  her  who  hears 
me." 

Miss  Meade,  curbing  her  resentful  feelings,  looked 
steadily  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  replied  : 

**  How  or  where  unburden  your  heart,  did  you  say  ?    By 


TBB  HEATHENS  07  THE  HEATH. 


255 


leaving  my  presence,  and  by  letting  your  wife  hear  that 
which  you  would  have  reach  my  ears ;  she  has  a  right  to 
listen ;  she  has  the  best  right  to  know  to  whom  your  heart 
belongs,  and  I  would  fain  learn  from  her  the  impression 
which  your  words  had  produced." 

"Bahl  "  exclaimed  the  rector  smartly,  "That's  beside 
the  matter ;  T  keep  such  secrets  from  her,  and  from  all 
others,"  and  then  he  continued  in  a  softer  tone,  "  I  can- 
not leave  your  presence.  O,  sweet  Esther !  were  my  wife 
to  know  my  feelings  for  you  she  would  hate  you  for- 
ever." 

*'  Not  if  she  knew  my  opinion  of  you,"  said  Miss  Meade 
calmly.  "  Not  if  she  knew  that  I  might  entertain  some 
respect  for  you  were  I  certain  of  yout  hatred  instead  of  a 
different  feeling," 

*•  Cruel,  cruel!  Cruel  of  you!"  continued  the  rector. 
"  Hate  you  ?  Imiossible !  I  could  hate  her,  I  could  hate 
all  else  for  your  sake,  Esther.  For  you  I  could  make  any 
sacrifice — home,  wife,  children,  friends,  reputation,  every- 
thing." 

**  I  require  no  sacrifices,"  said  she.  *'  Yes,  I  ask  a  favor 
—a  sacrifice  if  you  will— leave  me,  and  never  dare  to 
address  me  again  as  you  have  done.  You  have  presumed 
too  far;  I  have  suffered  long  without  complaint  Vx-cause  I 
did  not  wish  to  give  another  care  to  my  father,  but  now  I 
tell  you  that  from  this  time,  no  matter  what  the  result 
may  be,  the  annoyance  must  cen.se."  Miss  Meade  spoke 
with  great  determination,  her  eyes  told  her  meaning  us 
slie  stood  before  him,  and  the  Rev.  rector  though  ho 
winced  a  little  was  by  no  means  subdued. 

"Sweet  creature,  dream  nt)t  of  annoyance  from  mo," 
said  the  rector,  "  I  could  make  any  sacrifice  for  your  sake 
—but  leave  you  I  can't.  I  fet'l,  even  after  all  you  have 
said,  that  you  will  yet  relent  and  bear  with  my  ini{>ortun- 
ity.  Though  1  regard  your  father  for  his  worth,  and  ven- 
erate him  still  more  for  your  sake,  yet  you  may  believe 
that  it  is  solely  on  your  account  that  I  retain  him  as  cur- 
ate of  Pendell,  for  you  must  be  aware  that  he  is  at  present, 


!-^ 

* 

• 

1 

256 

THE  SfiATHClfS  Of*  TfiE  fiEATH. 

,  ;:* 


and  has  been  for  some  time,  unable  to  perform  all  his 
required  duties." 

The  color  that  now  mounted  to  the  cheek  of  Miss  Meado 
could  not  be  seen  in  the  pale  light.  Her  indignation  was 
aroused  by  the  man's  persistency,  and  at  the  implied 
threat  of  her  father's  dismissal.  The  rector  felt  really 
surprised  at  her  manner;  he  felt  that  ho  had  been  too 
urgent,  or  perhaps  too  precipitate.  He  stepped  back  a 
pace  or  two,  but  it  was  to  admire  her  more  fully,  for  Esther, 
with  her  clenched  hands,  and  compressed  lips,  and  flerco 
exi)ression,  had  at  the  time  the  aspect  of  a  stern  but  beau- 
tiful goddess. 

For  a  moment  or  two  not  a  word  was  spoken;  she 
struggling  to  restrain  her  emotion,  he  as  if  enraptured 
with  her  appearance.  Presently,  as  if  anxious  to  conciliate, 
he  made  an  humble  obeisance  and  advanced  towards  her. 

"Pardon!  I  most  humbly  ask  pardon.  If  anything  I 
have  said  has  led  you  for  a  moment  to  suppose  that  I  have 
not  the  proper  regard  for  your  feelings,  pray  let  me  exphiin 
my  words ;  if  they  have  offended,  let  me,  sweet  angel,  givo 
evidence  of  my  contrition." 

**  You  ask  for  pardon !  You  care  as  little  for  my  pardon 
as  you  do  for  my  feelings.  Why  dare  intrude  or  follow 
me  here?  asked  she,  still  boldly  looking  him  in  the  face. 
Your  words  are  insulting,  and  your  threat  contemptible  as 
you  are  yourself.  Yeu,  a  clergyman !  What  a  mockery ! 
row,  my  father's  employer!  What  a  degrading  service! 
Better  that  we  should  starve !  Would  that  there  were  a 
tliousand  now  present  to  hear  me  tell  you  that  your  con- 
duct is  a  disgrace' to  your  profession !  " 

These  cutting  words  were  keenly  ielt  by  the  rector— 
doubly  cutting  because  they  came  from  her,  yet  he  en- 
deavored to  appear  unmoved  as  if  ho  had  not  understood 
her  meaning.  Ho  now  began  to  feel  that  the  scornful 
beauty  whom  he  would  win,  was  not  one  to  be  easily  im- 
posed upon ;  and  that  she  must  be  api)roached  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  and  ho  at  once  affected  a  desire  to  gain  her  good 
opinion,  oven  wore  he  obliged  to  leave  her  forever. 


¥HB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


257 


[  all  his 

s  Meado 
tion  was 
implied 
It  really 
been  too 
I  back  a 
r  Esther, 
nd  fierce 
)ut  beau- 
ken;  she 
raptured 
onciliatc, 
ards  her. 
lythin^  I 
at  I  have 
e  explain 
i\\;o\,  give 

y  pardon 
or  follow 
the  face, 
tible  as 
nockery 1 
service ! 
e  were  a 
our  con- 
rector— 
;t  he  en- 
dorstood 
scornful 
asily  im- 
a  differ- 
her  good 
r. 


"  Ah  f "  said  he,  with  downcast  look,  "  perhaps  I  de- 
serve your  reproaches,  but  not  to  the  extent  you  have 
gone.  You  misjudge  me.  For  years  I  have  kept  aloof; 
for  years  I  have  taken  the  most  delicate  methods  of  hint- 
ing or  of  showing  my  regard  for  you— an  unfortunate 
attachment,  alas,  for  me ;  for  years  I  have  waited  for  an 
opportunity  of  explaining  my  position  and  making  an 
appeal.  In  a  word,  without  you,  my  life  must  bo  un- 
happy. Is  there  no" hope?"  Then  he  knelt  and  seized 
her  hand,  and  endeavored  to  cover  it  with  kisses.  "  O 
Esther,"  as  we  are  now  here  alone,  I  ask,  is  there  to  be  no 
hope  ?  I  am  peculiarly  situated,  if  I  can  have  no  claim 
on  your  consideration,  tell  me  what  is  to  be  my  doom.  I 
shall  hold  your  dear  hand  until  you  speak  some  word  of 
encouragement,  even  for  the  distant  future." 

While  Miss  Meade  was  struggling  to  disengage  her 
hand,  a  strange  voice  from  a  little  distance  was  heard  to 
say :  "  Not  quite  alone,  your  Reverence,  not  quite  alone  as 
you  imagine ;  what  a  pity  that  your  mission  here  has  been 
such  a  failure!  Fair  lady,  if  you  cannot  give  a  more 
favorable  reply  to  his  gallant  speeches,  or  if  you  cannot 
trust  your  tongue  to  bid  him  hope,  or  to  tell  his  doom, 
shall  I  again  pronounce  it  for  him  ?  " 

The  rector  was  thoroughly  startled;  Esther  looked 
quickly  around  her.  In  front  of  a  large  furze  bush,  that 
was  sufficient  to  hide  a  person  from  view,  stood  the  ghost- 
like form  of  Zingari,  looking  toward  the  sea.  Her  right 
arm  was  partly  outstretched;  her  withered  face  wore  a 
solemn  expression,  and  the  moonlight,  that  was  mingled 
with  her  snow-white  hair,  seemed  like  a  halo  around  the 
head  of  a  proi>hetess.  Though  many  might  have  been 
alarmed  at  the  time— for  the  hour  was  late,  and  the  place 
lonely— yet  Miss  Meade  felt  a  measure  of  relief  in  the 
presence  of  a  third  person,  and  she  advanced  with  confi- 
dence toward  the  old  gypsy  woman.  She  then  turned  to 
address  and  rebuke  the  rector,  she  hoped  for  the  last  time, 
but  when  she  looked  at  the  spot  where  she  had  left  him 
kneeling,  she  found  that  he  had  suddenly  disappeared. 


:  5t  r<" 


r 

1  , 

1 

,  J 

OHAPTEB   XXIV. 


I      ' 


;  M 


III 


jK;^^ 


SI- 


S' 


t  II 


,  ZINOABI. 

T  EFT  alone,  as  they  now  were,  at  an  hour  not  far  from 
^^  midnight,  Zingari  stood  motionless  for  some  time; 
she  seemed  as  if  intent  on  watching  the  retiring  form  of 
the  rector,  and  to  strain  her  eyes,  as  if  to  still  keep  him 
in  view.  Her  companion,  who  had  better  vision,  and  who 
was  no  doubt  anxious  to  be  assured  of  the  departure  of 
Mr.  Morton,  could  dee  nothing  of  him,  and  it  might  have 
been  only  imagination  on  the  part  of  the  old  gypsy  woman 
to  think  that  he  was  then  visible.  Miss  Meade  was  under 
the  impression  that  the  rector  must  have  suddenly  sprung 
down  from  the  high  bank,  in  order  to  run  along  the  cir- 
cuitous shore,  thereby  to  reach  the  village  and  escape 
further  observation.  Once  or  twice  the  old  woman  placed 
her  hand  behind  her  ear,  as  if  endeavoring  to  catch  the 
sound  of  his  retiring  i'otjtstei)S,  and  as  soon  as  she  seemed 
satisfied  that  he  had  gone  away,  she  gave  a  heavy  sigh, 
and  without  speaking  a  wonl,  took  Esther  by  the  hand, 
and  led  her  slowly  forward  to  the  grassy  elevation  which 
commanded  the  most  extensive  view  of  the  Bay  that  could 
be  found  in  this  retired  place.  A  few  dark  clumps  of 
gorse  were  scattered  hero  and  there,  and  having  seated 
herself  upon  a  projecting  rock,  she  motioned  Miss  Meade 
to  take  a  place  beside  her;  and  then,  as  if  musing  upon 
the  beautl'ol  scene  before  them,  or  dwelling  upon  some 
sad  recollectian  of  other  years,  she  continued  still  silent 
until  her  wierd  and  now  dejected  appearance  had  at  last 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


259 


Inclined  her  companion  to  speak :  "  Poor  woman,  you  look 
OS  if  you  were  troubled." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  Zingari  slowly 
replied  with  a  sigh :  "  Alas !  what  has  my  poor  life  been— 
my  almost  dreary  existence— but  one  continued  scene  of 
care,  one  wild,  sad  sea  of  trouble.  There  was  for  me  a  short 
period  of  happiness— ah,  *iow  short!— in  my  early  days, 
which  was  as  calm  and  bright  as  that  scene  before  you ; 
but  oh  heavens,  how  soon  came  the  deep  and  constant 
gloom." 

The  poor  woman  seemed  much  depressed,  her  manner 
was  subdued,  and  now  she  drew  her  hand  across  her  eyes, 
which  were  full  of  tears. 

"It  would  be  a  black  month  that  had  not  more  than 
one  day  of  sunshine,"  said  Esther,  feelingly,  "  I  trust  that 
your  remaining  years  may  bring  you  peace." 

"  Peace,  eternal  peace,  the  oblivion  of  the  tomb — that 
must  come,"  replied  Zingari,  "  but  what  peace  can  I  ex- 
pect again,  for  there  are  some  whom  I  can  never  forgive, 
there  are  some  whose  viloness  has  brought  mo  sorrow, 
and  some  whose  wrongs  I  should  avenge.  I  can  only 
expect  peace  in  the  grave." 

"Avenged  rather  forget.  Ah,  what  of  the  promised 
peaceful  hereafter,  if  wo  cannot  forgive?"  asked  Miss 
Meade. 

"The  hereafter?"  said  Zingari,  "that  may  bo  but  a 
dream— I  often  tliiiik  so— better  oblivion,  better  nlnmnna  * 
than  even  a  broken  sleep  of  life  with  a  dream  of  misery." 

"  There  is  a  future— it  is  not  a  mere  (Ire.im— a  bhst  st  ate 
of  happiness  for  those  who  can  forgive,"  said  Miss  Meade. 
"It  is  the  duty  of  all  to  be  like  our  Heavenly  Father,  to 
f(»llow  His  example  and  forgive— to  forgive  oven  those  who 
liavo  done  us  the  most  injury." 

"Ah!  child,"  replied  Zingari,  "what  a  dreamer  you 
now  are!  Were  you,  like  others,  impelled  to  follow  the 
example  of  your  so-called  Heavenly  Father,  you  would 


*  Buddhistic  annihilation. 


Ti!B  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


M3 


ofteu  be  untrue  to  your  own  nature,  would  be  inconsistent 
—at  times  greatly  humane— but  most  often  violently  atro- 
cious. Does  not  your  own  sacred  book  plainly  record 
numerous  instances  of  how  the  Great  Being,  of  whom  you 
speak,  burned  with  revenge,  and  not  only  slaughtered  the 
guilty,  but  the  innocent;  not  only  visited  male  offenders 
with  fire  and  sword,  disease  and  horrid  tortures,  but  har- 
assed unoffending  women  and  harmless  children  with 
fierce  wrath  and  dire  persecution.  And  shall  we  mortals 
be  more  humane  than  your  God ;  can  we  be  more  forgiv- 
ing than  the  Divinity  ?  " 

After  a  little  hesitation,  Esther  replied :  "  We  cannot  in 
any  manner  presume  to  be  equal  to  the  Deity  in  all  that 
is  benevolent  and  merciful.  Those  whom  God  found  it 
necessary  to  destroy,  were  cut  off,  no  doubt,  as  a  warning 
to  others ;  He  should  have  power  over  the  lives  he  cre- 
ated." 

"And  if  you  follow  up  this  mode  of  argument,"  resum- 
ed Zingari,  "if  you  can  so  readily  find  an  excuse  for  cru- 
elty, you  will,  like  fanatical  theologians,  only  prove  your 
Deity  like  to  a  fiend— an  irate,  malicious  monster  gloating 
in  vengeance."* 

"Shocking!"  exclaimed  Miss  Meade.  * 

"  It  is  even  so,"  said  Zingari.  "  By  reading  your  Scrip- 
tures, you  can  come  to  no  other  conclusion  than  that  the 
Jewish  Deity— now  the  Christian  God — was  like  an  insatia- 
ble fury,  jealous  and  revengeful,  ever  ready  to  take 
offence;  not  punishing  liis  creatures  as  a  father  would  his 
children,  but  upon  the  merest  pretext,  involving  all  in 
one  common  destruction." 

"  These  instances,"  replied  Miss  Meade,  who  felt  somo- 


*  Baester.  the  great  commentator,  makes  the  following  extraordi- 
nary plea  for  Jehovah,  with  regard  to  the  slaughter  of  male  "  llttlo 
ones,"  as  recorded  in  Numbers,  Chap.  31,  v.  17.  "  With  respect  to  the 
execution  of  male  infants,  who  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  been 
guilty.  God,  the  author  and  supporter  of  life,  whtj  has  a  right  to 
dispose  of  Itwhen  and  how  Ho  thinks  proper,  commanded  it:  and 
'shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?'  Amazing  vindica- 
tiou  of  cruelty  I " 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


2C1 


wliai  embarrassed,  "  were  })Ul  rare  exceptions  tor  a  useful 
purpose;  a  few  were  cut  off,  that  many  might  be  saved. 
Our  God  is  a  forgiving  God.'' 

"Such  exceptions,"  said  Zingarl,  "  are  too  numerous  to 
servo  humanity,  or  to  excite  a  true  veneration  for  Jeho- 
vah; the  exceptions  might,  indeed,  be  called  His  rule. 
You  would  have  me  think  that  your  God  is  one  that  will 
easily  relent,  and  yet  there  is  a  sin,  a  so-called  bla8i)he- 
my,  that  He  will  never,  never  forgive." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Miss  Meade,  "  it  is  evident  that 
you  are  but  partially  informed;  were  you  to  study  our 
Scriptures  carefully,  you  would  find  that  the  Good  Being 
whom  we  worship,  is  in  Himself  perfection." 

'•  Child,"  replied  Zingari,  "you  are  like  others  of  your 
creed,  positive  and  assuming.  You  fancy  that  your  book 
only  requires  to  bo  read  in  order  to  produce  conviction 
and  belief.  I  read  that  book  before  you  were  born ;  read 
it  to  prove  to  my  own  satisfaction  that  it  is  but  a  corrupt 
version  of  the  Sacred  Vedas ;  partly  but  a  rehash  of  the 
theologies  of  ancient  nations,  many  of  whom  have  already 
passed  away.  Your  so-called  holy  book  describes  the 
Divine  Being  as  like  to  an  ordinary  man,  with  the  passions 
of  a  human  being,  going  about  to  be  seen  and  felt,  and 
subject,  like  a  common  mortal,  to  love,  hatred,  anger, 
wrath  and  fury." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  make  it  so,"  said  Miss  Meade  with  a 
little  warmth,  "  it  is  but  another  proof  that  the  natural 
heart  cannot  comprehend  the  things  that  belong  to  God. 
His  ways  are  not  like  ours,  they  are  unsearchable." 

"Mere  flippant  words,"  said  Zingari,  "  words  which  are 
too  often  but  the  refuge  of  the  credulous  and  fanatical. 
We  cannot  comprehend  the  Omnipotent — the  great  Brahm 
—but  when  your  book  is,  as  you  say,  inspired  to  tell  us 
what  He  is,  it  but  robs  Him  of  His  glory ;  no  greater  mis- 
representation of  the  Deity  is  possible  than  that  given  of 
Him  in  many  places  in  your  Bible.  It  makes  Him  a  God 
which  canno't  be  seen,  and  which  has  been  seen,  a  God 
of  love  and  a  God  of  hatred,  a  God  of  pity  and  a  God  of 


'M 


^^ 


'1! 


262 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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vindictivcncss,  a  God  unchangoubio  uud  a  God  of  insta- 
bility. Your  book  is  full  of  amazing  contradictions  vvliicli 
your  priests  vainly  strive  to  reconcile ;  and  together,  your 
arrogant  priests  and  inspired  contradictions  have  as  yet 
only  mystified  dupes  and  curbed  the  true  progress  of 
humanity.    Better  that  the  book  had  never  been  written. " 

"And  woman,  what  would  the  world  be  without  it?" 
said  Miss  Meade,  looking  sternly  at  Zingari.  "What 
would  this  great  nation  be  without  its  Bible  and  its 
authorized  expounders  ?  " 

"A  world  of  more  peace  and  less  war,  a  world  of  more 
luunan  hapianess,"  replied  Zingari,  "a  world  of  more  hu- 
uiane  ideas.  Your  great  book  has  consecrated  imposition, 
and  made  tyrants  of  priestly  i)retenders  whom  you  revere 
as  its  authorized  expounders— how  happy  for  mankind 
were  there  no  such  crafty  priests,  no  such  greedy,  aspiring, 
paid  agents  of  mystery.  Without  them  your  nation  would 
be  more  truly  great,  it  would  be  less  plundered,  and  less 
impoverished.  Your  Bible  has  displaced  truth  and  subvert- 
ed man's  ideas  of  right  and  wrong;  it  has  taught  men  to 
submit  to  extortion,  and  to  become  reconciled  to  abuses, 
to  political  and  theological  despotibiu  in  every  shape  and 
degree.  The  Bible  and  the  priests,  the  Bible  and  the 
priests,  have  done  all  this." 

"  You  are  in  error,"  resumed  Miss  Meade.  "  Those  who 
will  pervert  its  plain  teaching,  those  alone,  only  create  the 
abuses  which  you  seem  to  think  exist.  The  Bible  is  the 
great  supporter  of  truth—it  is  truth  itself.  It  is  the  great 
opponent  of  despotism,  and  denounces  every  kind  of  op- 
pression." 

"Wild  assertion,"  said  Zingari  calmly,  "wild  assertion, 
child.  If  the  teaching  of  your  inspired  book  is  so  plain, 
its  meaning  has  perplexed  your  most  learned  men  who 
have  harassed  and  bewildered  the  world  with  their  wild 
disputations.  It  has  given  rise  to  Popery  and  its  silly 
rites,  it  has  created  a  hundred  jarring  sects :  and  in  this 
land,  as  in  others,  it  has  established  that  great  nursery  of 
pretence  and   extortion— a  State  Church.    The  Bible  is 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


2G3 


not  tho  oi)ponent  of  despotism,  it  commands  men  to  bo 
submissive  to  rulers,  and  history  tells  us  what  too  many 
of  those  have  been.  You  surely  know  that  when  that  vile 
oppression,  the  slave  trade  existed,  the  bishops— your  hi^'h 
authorized  expounders— opposed  emancipation,  and,  like 
other  religious  doctors  interested  in  that  dreadful  traffic, 
quoted  the  Bible  in  support  of  slavery.  I  have  no  faith  in 
your  Bible,  I  sometimes  begin  to  doubt  every  so-called 
inspired  book— even  the  Vedas.  Inspiration!  Alas,  I 
sometimes  think  that  it  is  but  the  parent  of  superstition, 
the  ally  of  the  cunning  against  tho  simple,  of  tho  strong 
against  the  weak,  the  black  shadow  out  of  which  procords 
tho  most  degrading  of  all  servitude— mental  slavery.  You 
speak  of  your  nation  being  groat  with  its  thousands  of 
paupers— the  defrauded— which  are  still  increasing.  No, 
neither  England,  nor  any  other  country,  will  ever  be  truly 
great  while  a  few  are  permitted  to  own  nearly  all  the  land, 
and  almost  all  the  wealth ;  while  the  great  majority  havo 
neither  land,  nor  a  more  sufficiency ;  while  thousands  arc 
slaves  to  severe  labor,  and  while  tens  of  tliousands  wandta* 
about  in  the  most  pitiable  state  of  penury,  many  wisiiiiig 
lor  death  and  contemplating  a  hurried  termination  of 
their  existence. 

"You  speak  of  your  doubts,"  said  Miss  Meade,  "  who 
has  not  had  them?  At  times  they  come  like  spectres 
pointing  to  an  abyss,  at  times  like  shining  angels  in  tho 
light  of  dawn.  They  have  been  likened  to  the  shadow  of 
truth,  to  the  beginning  of  philosophy— What  are  they  ? 
perhaps  but  specious  dangers  at  best,"  and  then  after  a 
few  moments'  reflection  she  continued :  "  You  speak  of 
paupers,  why  should  such  be,  why  should  any  one  bo  house- 
loss  or  honn>less?  God  pity  them !— But  then  there  must 
be  some  poor,  some  sickly  and  infirm,  and  some  weei>ing 
like  the  children  of  sorrow;  all  cannot  be  on  an  equality 
as  to  natural  gifts  or  wordly  circumstances." 

*'  I  admit  that  to  some  extent,"  replied  Zingari,  "  but 
is  there  not  some  dreadful  abuse  in  the  terrible  dispropor- 
tion between  the  very  rich  and  the  very  poor  ?    There  are 


n 
m 


|f« 


:  vi 


264 


THE  nEATHENS  OF  THE   nEATIT. 


existing  wrongs,  legalized  impostures,  and  consecrated 
frauds,  which  still  crush  thousands  down  to  poverty,  thou- 
sands who  have  vainly  spent  their  breath  in  manly  and 
determined  efforts  against  penury— how  much  have  kings 
and  priests  had  to  do  with  this  grossly  unjust  and  unnnt  urul 
condition  of  things?  But  ah,"  said  she  solemnly,  while 
looking  upward  and  holding  out  her  clenched  hands,  "  I 
see  it,  it  Is  coming,  it  is  coming,  and  Nemesis  shall  over- 
whelm the  usurpers,  shall  overwhelm  them  all.  Alas, 
child,  there  is  oppression  even  in  this  so-called  free  land. 
I  and  my  people  have  felt  it,  we  have  asked  for  but  littio 
—we  met  with  persecution  and  I  met  with  my  first  great 
affliction,  the  loss  of  my  greatest  earthly  tie.  Alas  for 
Christian  pretensions,  your  missionaries  heard  our  cry, 
but  ran  off  to  distant  lands,  and  left  us  to  unfriendly 
priests  at  home.  But  stay,  as  you  have  said  so  much  as  to 
the  excellence  and  purity  of  your  Bible,  what  have  you  to 
say  as  to  the  character  of  some  of  its  ordained  expounders, 
those  ri»)tous  reverends,  those  greedy  pharisees,  those 
audacious  pretenders,  that  you  seem  to  think  so  nec- 
essary?" 

Esther  looked  up  for  a  moment  at  the  weird  face  of  her 
interrogator,  and  after  a  pause,  merely  said — "  All  are  not 
alike,"  she  then  turned  her  gaze  upon  some  distant  star 
and  remained  silent. 

For  a  little  time  Zingari  seeemed  to  study  the  upturned 
face  of  the  curate's  daughter.  The  moonlight  as  if  ming- 
ling with  Esther's  soft  eyes  must  have  reached  and  touched 
some  sensitive  vein  in  the  old  gypsy  woman's  heart,  for 
when  Miss  Meade  turned  to  speak,  she  heard  a  stifled  sob, 
and  she  saw  that  Zingari  was  bent  and  silently  weeping. 

Esther  really  pitied  the  poor  woman,  she  felt  at  the 
moment  that  Zingari  must  have  had  some  sorrowful  rec- 
ollection of  wrong,  perhaps  some  sad  reason  for  asking 
such  a  question  as  to  the  general  character  of  the  clergy. 

"Happy  for  you,  that  all  are  not  alike,"  said  Zingari, 
after  an  effort  to  speak,  "  happy  if  you  can  escape  from 
the  wri^tch  that  would  injure  you.    Happy  for  me,  if  I  had 


A 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


2C5 


never  seen  one  of  your  clergy.  O,  child,  I  can  easily 
rerneraber  when  you  wer«  scarcely  more  than  a  little 
creeping  thing  loved  by  Agnes— ah,  why  did  I  mention  her 
dear  name!— and  welcomed  by  all  in  our  camp.  Can  you 
remember  crazy  Agnes,  ray  poor  stricken,  betrayed  Agnes? 
O,  how  like  you  are  to  her  now !  " 

"  Yes,  I  can  still  remember  her,"  replied  Miss  Meade. 
"Though  many  years  have  passed  since  she  sang  for  me, 
I  was  but  a  little  child  then,  and  I  have  never  heard  her 
history;  you  were  silent  as  to  her  fate,  your  tribe  was 
silent,  and  my  father,  if  he  knew  much  of  her,  scarcely 
ever  mentioned  her  name.  But  why  speak  of  her  as  your 
poor  betrayed  Agnes  ?  "  Esther  felt  truly  concerned,  and 
awaited  a  reply. 

The  tears  stood  again  in  Zingari's  eyes.  "A  sad,  sad 
fate,"  at  last  she  replied,  "  a  sad  fate  for  one  so  young,  so 
innocent,  and  so  beautiful— better  that  you  should  not 
hear  it  even  now.  Yet  my  poor  Agnes  was  betrayed  and 
sent  to  an  untimely  grave.  Cursed  be  her  deceivers,  hur- 
ried be  their  doom !  "  The  old  woman  now  started  up, 
and  looked  wildly  around,  her  eyes  flashed  in  the  moon- 
light, and  she  seemed  as  savage  as  a  tigress  that  would 
rush  upon  those  who  had  destroyed  her  young.  "God's 
curse  be  on  them,"  again  said  the  old  woman.  "  O  Agnes ! 
I  could  tear  thy  foul  bretrayer  limb  from  limb."  And 
then  in  a  few  moments  after  these  passionate  exclama- 
tions, she  grew  calmer,  and  said :  "  But  better  let  him  to 
his  fate— the  doom  of  the  wicked  is  almost  certain— few 
shall  escape.  I  have  waited  for  this,  and  shall  wait  a  lit- 
tle longer."  The  old  woman  became  again  subdued,  she 
had  been  almost  overcome  by  the  vehemence  of  her  feel- 
ing, and  now,  as  the  poor  withered  thing  sat  crouchea  u,t 
Esther's  feet,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
sobbed  aloud.  In  deep  sympathy  at  the  moment  with 
Zingari,  Miss  Meade  was  so  much  affected,  that  she  felt 
unable  to  utter  one  word  of  comfort  on  this  trying  occa- 
sion ;  she  merely  stooped,  and  then  tenderly  raising  tht 
r'd  woman's  han/,  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 


la 


i  i 


1 

1 

HI 

H 

■f  ■' 

'  ^^1 

N 

1 


►  1 


2f)6 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THK  UEATH. 


"  An{,'ol  of  tho  niffht,  dauj,'htpr  of  tho  stars.  Uly  of  \hn 
moonbeams,"  at  Ifi.st  iiiurmur('»l  Ziii-jari,  "  may  llowiTs 
ever  mark  thy  footstoi)S,  may  the  raven's  winj?  never 
Bhadow  thy  doorway,  nm;  no  hidden  serpent  ever  watch 
thy  path."  She  then  placed  her  hand  lovinglv  upon 
Esther's  head,  and  muttered  some  words— perhaps  somo 
prayer  or  incantation— in  an  unlvnown  tonj,Mie. 

"My  poor  striclcen  friend,"  said  Miss  Meade,  **  your 
cause  of  sorrow  must  be  great,  your  grief  must  be  severe. 
I  feel  touched  by  your  kind  words,  and  would  gladly  suffer 
to  relieve  you ;  but  even  now,  you  can  find  comfort,  if  you 
can,  from  your  heart,  pray  for  your  enemies  and  perse- 
cutors, and  for  all  who  have  brought  you  this  great 
trouble.    Forgive,  that  you  may  be  forgiven." 

"I  cannot  pray  for  liends,"  said  Zingari,  hastily, 
"  prayer  for  such  would  be  but  mockery.  I  might  forgive 
an  injury  done  to  myself,  but  I  cannot  forgive  the  terrible 
wrong  done  to  an  innocent  creature.  I  need  no  forgive- 
ness," she  continued,  resuming  her  wonted  energy,  "  for 
I  have  harmed  none— neither  God  nor  man." 

Upon  a  little  reflection.  Miss  Meade  thought  it  useless 
to  press  a  Scriptural  precept,  which  she  believed  the 
gypsy  woman  well  knew  was  scarcely  ever  followed  by 
Individual  Christians,  either  lay  or  clerical ;  and  perhaps 
never  by  Christian  nations.  Zingari  was  naturally  quick 
in  detecting  a  fallacy,  and,  in  her  present  mood,  would  be 
unsparing  in  her  caustic  remarks  against  texts  or  maxims 
so  far  beyond  human  nature  as  to  be  practically  overlook- 
ed by  priest  and  people. 

"I  have  harmed  none,"  continued  Zingari.  "During 
my  long  life,  I  have  had  many  opportunities  of  crushing 
those  who  have  injured  me,  but  my  nature— such  as  it  is— 
was  often  superior  to  revenge,  and  I  have  waited  lo  see 
retribution  come  without  being  sought  for.  I  cannot  have 
long  to  live ;  and  if  you  choose  to  listen,  I  will  now  tell 
you  something  of  my  life;  and  in  this  lonely  place,  you 
shall  also  hear  something  concerning  poor  Agnes,  and  of 
her  sad  fate. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


267 


It  Is  now  a  fow  months  over  a  century  since  I  was 
broiiffht  to  this  country  by  an  EnKHsh  family  returning 
from  India.  You  look  surprisod  at  this  statement,  yet  it 
is  true.  I  was  seven  years  old  when  I- loft  Bombay,  and  if 
I  live  until  next  ^ferch,  I  shall  be  108  ^ears  old;  and 
though  this  Is  called  a  groat  ago— there  are  other  persons 
older— yet  I  feel  more  .vigorous  at  the  present  time  than 
most  people  do  at  seventy ;  a  regular  life  makes  the  differ- 
ence, and  were  it  not  for  my  many  troubles— for  that 
greatest  of  all  miseries,  the  loss  of  one  dearer  to  mo  than 
life— and  the  bitter  misfortunes  of  poor  Agnes,  I  should 
have  fewer  wrinkles  in  my  face,  and  h>ive  still,  perhaps, 
some  of  the  dark  silken  hair,  which  it  was  said,  added  so 
much  to  the  personal  attractions  which  I  may  have  had  in 
my  youthful  days.  The  gentleman  In  whose  family  I  was 
more  companion  than  servant,  was  an  officer  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  East  India  Company.  Ho  remained  in  India, 
and  survived  scarcely  a  year  after  the  departure  of  his 
family.  You,  of  course,  remember  the  history  of  that 
eminent  Christian  Governor,  Warren  Hastings,  who  was 
sent  to  civilize,  and  perhaps  to  help  to  Christianize  India, 
and  whose  career,  like  too  many  others  of  his  class,  was 
but  one  of  tyranny  and  plunder ;  he  was  the  cause  of 
great  disaffection  among  the  natives,  and  in  an  endeavor 
to  suppress  one  of  the  many  uprisings  of  the  time,  this 
officer  was  killed.  The  pension  allowed  his  family  was 
not  very  great,  and  my  mistress,  who  was  a  very  good 
woman,  though  a  professing  Christian,  did  her  best  to 
make  this  pension,  with  a  few  other  resources,  answer  to 
support  her  family,  and  to  educate  her  little  daughter— a 
girl  about  my  own  age— and  myself.  The  family  was  for- 
tunately n  »t  large — the  lady  and  her  daughter,  myself,  and 
my  aunt,  who,  though  a  Hindoo  woman,  and  a  sincere 
believer  in  the  sacred  Vedas,  became  so  much  attached  to 
her  mistress  as  to  volunteer  to  accompany  her  to  Eng- 
land. I  was  then  an  ori>han,  and  as  1  had  been  a  favor- 
ite in  the  family  previous  to  its  departure  from  India, 
£,  of  course,  could  not  be  left  behind. 


V 


t'. 

i 


I! 


J' 


<•      ■>-} 


l^'T 


268 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


fit 


In  addition  to  this  number,  we  had  two  ordinary  serv- 
ants. We  lived  in  a  pleasant  part  of  England,  not  many 
miles  from  Pendell,  where  we  now  are.  I  was  sent  to 
school  with  the  lady's  daughter;  I  was  instructed  in 
almost  every  u^ful  branch,  and  eveir  had  the  benefit  of 
some  accomplishments,  which  were  willingly  paid  for  by 
my  good  mistress ;  indeed,  I  was  jilmost  treated  as  the 
equal  of  little  Mary,  her  daughter.  But  though  the  lady's 
great  desire  was  to  make  me  a  Christian ;  though  I  had 
attended  chu'ch,  and  in  course  of  time  had  become  as 
well  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  the  Bible  as  the 
most  advanced  in  our  classes,  yet  my  aunt  was  so  rigid  in 
her  faith— though  by  no  means  rigid  in  her  practice— that 
she  always  succeeded  in  counteracting  the  teachings  of 
any  Christian  friends  who  would  have  me  become  a  prose- 
lyte, and  in  convincing  me,  by  sound  reason  and  argu- 
ment, that  our  ancient  creed  was  far  superior  to  Chris- 
tianity—was, in  fact,  the  souvce  from  which  that  and  all 
other  creeds  had  been  drawn ;  and  in  this  belief  I  have 
still  continued  and  ever  shall  remain. 

Well,  in  course  of  time,  my  kind  friend  and  mistress 
died;  my  poor  aunc  died  shortly  afterward;  my  cora- 
panion— I  might  almost  call  her  sister— Mary,  got  married 
and  removed  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  and  in  less 
than  three  yjars  afterward,  I  heard  of  her  decease.  I  was 
now  left  alone,  I  someway  found  but  little  sympathy  from 
Christian  people,  and  still  less  from  many  who  called 
themselves  Christian  missionaries.  It  had  been  asserted 
that  I  was  obstinate  in  my  disbelief  in  the  true  faith,  and 
that  I  h)id  treated  its  teachers  with  contempt,  yet  notwith- 
standing this,  and  my  being  looked  upon  as  a  heathen,  I 
found  some  of  your  State  Church  ministers  approach  mo 
for  another  purpose;  they  spoke  of  my  charms,  and  even 
offered  me  tempting  inducements  to  become  their  slave. 

fortunately  I  was  not  left  without  a  little  means,  and 
I  succeeded  in  escaping  every  snare.  Few  can  ever  tell 
how  many  impoverished  creatures,  how  many  friendless 
and  destitute  women  have  been  lured  to  sin,  and  dragged 


tBB  BEATHEKS  Of  TBB  HEATfl. 


269 


r  serv- 
many 
ent  to 
;ed   in 
eflt  of 
for  by 
as  the 
I  lady's 
I  had 
>me  as 
as  the 
rigid  in 
e— that 
ings  of 
I  prose- 
d  argu- 
>  Chris- 
and  all 
I  have 


down  to  infamy,  by  the  specious,  unscrupulous  wiles  of 
ministers  of  the  gospel.    In  her  will  my  kind  mistress  had 
left  me  a  hundred  pounds ;  by  the  death  of  my  poor  aunt 
I  received  nearly  an  equal  amount,  besides  a  few  valua- 
bles, and  as  I  happened  at  that  time  to  visit  a  camp  of 
wandering  gypsies,  I  found  that  they  were  the  descend- 
ants of  an  Indian  race,  that  many  of  them  understood  my 
native  language,  and  that  their  religious  ideas  were  in 
most  respects  like  my  own.    I  had  become  disgusted  with 
Christian  priests,  dissatisfied  with  Christian  f)eople,  and 
stung  by  their  pretensions,  and  shocKod  at  the  dishonesty, 
tlie  drunkeness,  the  brutality,  and  almost  the  general 
immorality  of  nearly  all  classes  who  assumed  to  be  super- 
ior every  way,  not  only  to  my  own  nation  and  race,  but  to 
all  other  people,  that  I  was  glad  to  be  received  and  treat- 
ed as  an  equal  by  others  who  were  generally  supposed  to 
be  less  honest,  less  moral,  and  less  civilized.    To  be  plain, 
I  found  the  change  most  agreeable ;  numbers  of  the  Ehg- 
IJDh  iu-iisiintry  I  had  found  to  be  the  veriest  boors,  wretch- 
edly poor,  s.'ivuge,   ignorant,  and   superstitioas,  such  as 
they  were  until  lately,  upon  the  Heath,  and  such  as  can 
be  still  found  in  many  cities,  towns  and  counties,  of  this 
far  famed  island,  and  e-^^'eeding,  in  proportir)n  to  their 
numbers,  the  degredation  of  any  similar  class  of  people  in 
all  India.    What  a  telling  leoture  might  be  given  in  rela- 
tion to  the  vast  su  ns  of  money  wasted  in  extravagant 
missionary  enterprises,  and  upon  the  visionary  attempts 
of  headstroi  .^,  persistent,  romantic  missionaries  to  civi- 
lize and  Christianize  the  heathen  in  distant  lands  while 
blindly  neglecting  the  thousands  of  a  more  vicious,  more 
barbarous,  and  a  more  debased  population,  even  in  this 
very  land  of  Britiun.    Verily,  no  folly  can  surpass  the 
vagaries  of  your  impulsive  fanatical  missionaries! 

I  had  been  scarcely  a  month  with  my  new  friends  when 
the  chief  man— some  called  him  the  king— of  the  gypsy 
tribes  paid  us  a  visit.  He  was  young,  very  intelligent  and 
of  fine  appeaiiiuce.  His  manner  was  most  agreeable,  he 
seemed  to  be  beloved  by  all  hi .  people,  and  to  me,  in  par- 


270 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Ill    -ii 


ticular,  he  paid   the  greatest  attention.    Ah!  me,  what 
happy,    happy   days!    He    must   have   possessed   some 
strange  power  of  fascination,  for  cautious,  as  I  then  was, 
I  soon  found  that  he  had  won  my  aflfections ;  that  the 
world  witliout  him  would  be  to  me  a  dreary,  dreary  waste. 
But  oh,  happiness !    I  shortly  afterwards  discovered  that 
he  loved,  that  he  worshiped,  that  he  adored  me.    Then 
came  the  rainbow  of  my  life ;  then  came  the  glorious  sun- 
light of  my  existence;  then  came  the  silvery  moonbeams 
by  night— brighter  than  these;  then  sprang  up  the  modest 
early  flowers  at  dawn,  glittering  with  dew ;  then  came  the 
languid  rose  at  noon,  yielding  its  rich  perfume  in  the 
shade;  then  cameth o  gentle  lily  quivering  in  the  evening 
air,  and  crowned  with  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun;  and 
then  again  came  the  moonbeams,  and  the  soft  song  of  the 
nightingale;  and  again  came  the  glittering  host  of  heaven 
to  look  down  upon  our  happiness.    OGod!  why  does  not 
my  heart  burst  when  1  think  of  this  lost  feliiity  I    Is  there 
a  heaven  that  will  restore  it,  is  there  a  hereafter  that  will 
unite  us  again  ?    If  so  let  it  come  soon.    O  Seraphic  vision 
of  departed  bliss,  stay,  Ftill  linger  before  me,  and  1  ^  thy 
bright,  thy  golden,  thy  beautiful  wing,  bear  me  onward 
and  waft  me  at  last  to  my  lost  love—to  my  long  lost  angel !  " 
While  the  shimmering  waves  now  seemed  melted  into 
moonlight,  Zingari  was  again  stooped  and  sobbing,  and 
Esther's  eyes  were  streaming  with  tears. 


$ 


a,  what 
i   some 
en  was, 
;hat  the 
y  waste, 
red  that 
.    Then 
ous  sun- 
)nbeams 
:^  modest 
•ame  the 
e  in  the 
I  evening 
Hin ;  and 
nff  of  the 
)f  heaven 
does  not 

Is  there 
that  will 
lie  vision 
d  1  ^  thy 
)  onward 
:  angel!" 

Ited  into 
)ing,  and 


OEAPTER   XXy. 

ZINGARI  AND  ADRIAN. 

TITHEN  Zlngari  was  able  to  resume  her  narratiTe  she 

'*  said:  "For  over  twelve  years  my  married  life  was 
almost  one  delightful  period  of  unalloyed  happines.  Adri- 
an and  I  seemed  to  have  but  one  soul,  one  heart,  one  de- 
sire, and  that  was  to  make  each  other  happy.  I  never 
knew  a  being  of  greater  nobility  of  spirit,  greater  purity 
of  thought,  greater  simplicity  of  desire,  or  one  of  greater 
disinterestedness.  Our  people  loved  us,  and  though  our 
habits  were  iadustrious,  little  labor  was  permitted  us, 
for  we  wore  cheerfully  supplied  with  most  of  the  simple 
necessaries  which  we  required ;  we  always  had  more  tha» 
sufficient,  and  were,  therefore,  well  enabled  to  help  many 
poor  strangers  who  craved  our  charity  or  assistance.  All 
was  sunshine.  I  seemed  to  inhabit  a  new  and  beautiful 
world  where  there  was  little  or  no  care.  The  earth  ap- 
peared to  bo  but  a  paradise  of  brightness  and  flowers, 
with  intervening  green  lields,  gentle  hill  slopes,  shaded 
vales,  mossy  rocks,  and  clear  running  streams.  We  sel- 
dom remained  long  in  one  place— perhaps  a  week;  some- 
times a  month ;  aiul  then  wc,  and  a  number  of  our  people, 
wandered  away  to  some  other  beautiful  spot,  where  we  fixed 
our  tents  and  traded  with  the  inhabitants.  We  offered  them 
for  sale  strange  little  baskets,  curiously  made  ornaments, 
vases  for  flowers,  fancy  articles,  and  trinkets  of  different 
kinds.  In  most  places  wo  were  readily  welcomed,  and 
troops  of  children  with  their  parents  would  visit  us  on 


r 


^^1 


■i  J.,   r^ 


ili 


>1! 


1 

4 

.» 

ffe 


i1 


272 


THE  BEA'TBEKS  Of  TBE  BEAfB. 


holidfl.ys.  We  had  music,  and  singing,  arid  innocent 
games.  Sometimes  Adrian,  or  I,  or  one  of  our  people 
would  play  the  guitar,  and  then  we  would  have  a  dance,  in 
which  many  joined,  under  the  shade  of  some  great  oak; 
and  often,  before  our  departure  from  a  neighborhood,  wo 
received  many  little  presents,  and  many  tokens  of  regret 
from  those  who  had  visited  us. 

Thus  it  was  for  a  long  time— for  years— that  we  went 
from  pnace  to  place.  In  summer  time,  and  in  the  genial 
seasons,  we  generally  selected  rural  spots  which  gave  us  a 
view  of  the  sea ;  in  winter  time  we  sought  some  sheltered 
place  in  the  vicinity  of  villages  or  towns.  Our  industry 
was  constant,  our  wants  were  few  and  we  almost  always 
had  an  abundance  of  all  that  was  really  needful.  Though 
we  laid  no  claim  to  any  portion  of  the  land— we  had  no 
ownership  in  it— some  of  our  people  occasionally  got  per- 
mission to  cultivate  a  few  roods  by  a  road  side ;  we  left  the 
little  spot,  planted  or  sown,  and  returned  in  due  season  to 
dig  or  reap;  and  this  for  the  time  was  nearly  equal  to 
ownership  of  the  soil.  We  in  a  manner  looked  upon  the 
wide  earth  as  the  common  property  of  all,  and  many  of  us 
often  wondered  in  our  simplicity  why  it  was  that  some 
had  the  power  to  refuse  us  and  others  the  use  of  an  acre 
for  necessary  cultivation,  while  having  or  keeping  hun- 
dreds or  thousands  of  acres  of  good  soil  lying  idle  and 
unproductive ;  we  wondered  how  it  was  that  some  could 
revel  in  indolent  wealth,  while  others— the  far  greater 
number— were  doomed,  or  forced,  to  a  life  of  harassing 
toil,  and  extreme  poverty ;  it  was  to  us  at  the  time  really 
a  matter  of  surprise  why  such  extremes,  why  such  appar- 
ent favoritism  and  injustice,  were  permitted  to  exist. 

The  common  desire  of  our  little  community  was  to 
make  the  most  of  life,  to  enjoy  its  innocent  pleasures, 
and  enable  others— even  strangers— to  do  the  same.  In 
this  way  years  passed.  Ah  how  rapidily!  I  forgot  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  care,  and  I  little  dreamed  at  the 
time  that  those  days  of  bliss  could  ever  have  an  end. 
Alas  for  my  inexperience  1    Y/hat  did  I  know  of  the  great 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


173 


nnocent 
people 
ance,  in 
»at  oak; 
lood,  wo 
)f  regret 

Ne  went 
e  genial 
ave  us  a 
aeltered 
industry 
i  always 
Though 

had  no 
got  per- 
I  left  the 
eason  to 
jqnal  to 
ipon  the 
ny  of  U3 
a.t  some 

an  acre 
ig  hun- 
dle  and 
le  could 

greater 

irassing 

really 

appar- 
st. 

was  to 

asures, 
pie.    In 

ot  that 
d  at  the 
m  end. 
le  great 


world  and  its  wiles?  Adrian  and  home  were  then  tho 
world  to  me,  and  while  in  the  midst  of  peace  and  felicity, 
my  fancy  was  unable  to  conjure  up  any  shadow  of  ap- 
proaohiiij:'-  sorrow.  How  often  do  we  forget,  while  admir- 
iiifj  the  rainbow,  and  the  yellow  tinted  clouds,  which  may 
appear  at  sunrise,  that  these  are  perhaps  but  the  precur- 
sors of  a  day  of  storm  and  gloom ! 

As  tribes  of  the  gyppy  community  were  to  bo  found 
here  and  there  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  it  often 
happened  that  ray  husband  would  pay  them  a  visit.  This 
he  was  expected  to  do,  it  was  in  part  a  kind  of  duty  in- 
cumbent on  him  as  chief  man.  At  first  I  used  to  accom- 
pany him,  always  attended  by  one  or  more  of  our  people, 
but  in  course  of  time,  when  I  had  two  little  duuprhters  to 
takd  care  of — one  about  two  years  older  than  tho  other — 
I  found  it  inconvenient  to  leave  them,  and  had  therefore 
to  remain  in  camp  with  our  friends;  and  though  at  such 
times  Adrian  would  make  the  shortest  possibly  stay,  yet  I 
found  the  days  dreary  and  wearisome  uiitil  his  longed  for 
return.. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  of  his  absence,  that 
our  first  difficulty,  I  might  say  our  first  great  trouble  with 
strangers  commenced ;  ending,  ala^,  some  time  afterward 
in  what  was  to  me  the  most  terrible  affiction.  Wo  had 
but  lately  moved  to  a  neighborhood  which  had  been  but 
seldom  visited  by  our  people.  Several  of  the  inhabitants, 
mostly  those  called  the  peasantry,  came  as  usual  to  see 
us.  We  traded  little  articles  with  them,  and  afterwards 
entertained  them  and  their  children  with  songs  and  sto- 
ries; and,  as  the  nights  Avere  fine,  many  would  remain 
with  us  until  a  late  hour.  One  Sunday  evening  in  partic- 
ular, a  great  number  of  persons  flocked  to  our  camp. 
They  must  have  thought  the  gypsies  a  wonderful  people ; 
they  found  th(?m  agreeable,  entertaining,  and  often  instruc- 
tive; quite  -honest  and  harmless,  and  not  tho  thieves 
and  vagabonds  such  as  they  had  bfon  too  often  repre- 
sented. Well,  while  in  the  midst  of  some  innocent  sport, 
I  think  I  was  the  first  to  observe  two  mounted  mou  gallop 


4 

t 


n 


Is* 


1 


974 


tHE  flEATHESB  Ot'  THE  llEATfl. 


I 


'':?# 


hurriedly  to  where  we  were.    It  was  a  summer's  eveninj?, 
and  one  of  the  strangers  seemed  to  be  heated  and  anjrry, 
and  he  shouted  in  an  excited  manner  before  he  reached 
us.    I  then  noticed  tliat  several  of  the  people  tried  to  steal 
away,  as  if  afraid  of  being  detected  in  the  commission  of 
sonje  groat  offence.     Upon  inquiry  I  found   that  it  was 
the  rector  of  the  parish  with  a  bailiff  that  visited  us.    The 
rector  spoke  in  a  loud  and  authoritative  voice,  his  words 
were  threatening  and  his  gestures  violent;  and    many 
persons  present,  especially  the  women  and  children,  ap- 
peared to  be  much  afraid  of  him.    It  seemed  that  very 
few  of  the  laboring  class  cared  to  attend  church,  and  for 
some  time  many  of  them  had  altogether  neglected  to  ap- 
pear there.    This  indifference  no  doubt  shocked  the  pious 
feelings  of  his  reverence,  and,  possibly  anxious  for  the 
safety  of  the  souls  of  those  whom  he  called,  '  his  people,' 
he  took  this  method  of  reproving  them  for  their   careless- 
ness; and  for  that  which  he  called  the  open  violation  of 
the  law  of  the  land.    This  reproof  was  not  very  gentle  for 
he  denounced  them  as  heathens,  infidels,  dissentefs,  and 
open  Sabbath    breakers,  and   assured  them  in  forcible 
terms,  that  he  would  commit  them  all  to  prison  for  their 
studied  contempt  of  both  law  and  gospel.    He  then  refer- 
red to  us  as  being  a  noted  set  of  wandering  thieves  and 
impostors,  wily  and  deceitful,  deluding  others  into  unbe- 
lief and  destruction ;  and  as  we  were  therefore  considered 
even  more  guilty  than  the  others,  we  were  of  course  in- 
cluded in  his  threat  of  punishment. 

Though  many  of  the  women  were,  as  I  have  said,  much 
afraid  of  this  reverend  detective,  not  one  of  our  peoi)le 
seemed  to  care  for  the  stormy  berating  of  the  rector. 
Even  when  he  becmne  most  excited,  some  of  our  men  only 
stretched  themselves  lazily  out  before  him,  and  smiled 
and  smoked  their  pipes  as  if  amused  by  his  vociferations; 
while  others  tried  to  reassure  those  who  had  boon  intim- 
idated. This  conduct  must  have  greatly  enraged  the  holy 
man.  To  be  treated  with  such  indignity  was  evidently  an 
unpardonable   ofCenoe — he  at  onco   ordered  the  attend- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


•275 


eveninpr, 
(1  an^'ry, 

reached 
d  to  steal 
lission  of 
it  it  was 
us.  The 
is  words 
d  many 
Iren,  ap- 
hat  very 
,  and  for 
ed  to  ap- 
ho  pious 
J  for  the 

people,' 
eareless- 
(lation  of 
:entle  for 
tefs,  and 

forcible 
for  their 
en  refer- 
eves  and 
to  unbe- 
tnsidered 
ourse  in- 

lid,  much 
ir  people 
e  rector, 
nen  only 
d  smiled 
erations ; 
en  intim- 
the  holy 
lently  an 
i  attend- 


ant bailiff  to  take  down  the  names  of  such  as  he  knew, 
and,  if  possible,  to  tind  out  the  names  of  every  offender 
present,  in  order  that  all  should  be  summoned  to  appear 
before  the  court  of  his  reverence  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

Sure  enough,  next  day  at  an  early  hour,  five  or  six  of 
our  men,  and  as  many  of  our  women,  were  cited  to  appear 
and  answer  for  the  offence  of  Sabbath  breaking  and  pro- 
fane scoflfincr.    I  was  fortunately  not  included  among  the 
offenders,  and,  anxious  to  concilia' e,  I  thought  it  best  to 
l>ay  an  early  visit  to  the  rector,  for  he  was  to  be  the  mag- 
istrate, and  I  might  say,  the  sole  judge  and  jury  in  the 
matter;  but  I  could  gain  no  admittance,  he  would  neither 
see  me,  nor  listen  to  any  plea  that  might  be  offered,  and 
before  the  noon  of  that  day,  over  a  dozen  persons,  men 
and  women  were  convicted  by  his  humane  reverence  and 
lined  a  crown  ea<!h,  with  costs ;  and  in  default  of  immedi- 
ate i)ayment,  each  person  was  to  be  committed  to  prison 
for  one  week  at  hard  labor.    In  this  extremity,  I  called 
again.    Fow  of  the  gypsies  had  any  money  to  spare ;  the 
penalty  might  be  considered  small  by  those  who  had 
means,  but  it  was  a  large  amount  to  those  who  had  no- 
thing, and  I  was  informed  that  none  of  the  poor  working 
people  who  were  among  the  convicted,  v^ould  possibly  pay 
the  extortionate  demand ;  some  were  absolutely  without 
a  farthing,  and  I  pited  thera.    The  rector  admitted  me 
this  time ;  ho  had  been  probably  somewhat  appeased  by 
the  triumph  of  justice  at  his  hand.    Though  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  years,  I  knew  him  at  a  glance— more  portly 
and  florid  than  he  was  when  he  first  approached  me  with 
an  infamous  proposal.    He  must,  however,  have  forgotten 
me.    He  looked  like  a  man  that  lived  high  and  drank 
much,  and  that  was  evidently  sensual    enough  to  seek 
indulgence  of  the  basest  jiassions.     I  did  not  nnsjudge 
him.    He  was  more  than  civil  to  me— rather  too  free  in 
his  manner— but  I  thought  it  best  to  be  on  my  guard,  to 
say  nothing  that  might  irritate,  but  rather  to  accept  the 
cumpiiuients  he  paid  me.     He  would,  however,  admit 


ip 


n 


•■f  I'T" 


f     ! 

[          ^ 

1' 
1  ■' ' 

276 


THB  HBATHENS  OF  TBB  HEATH. 


% 


II 

M  '' 

J'l 

f 

'il 

l*.!ii 

of  no  plea  for  his  parishioners,  and  to  prison  they  were 
sent.*    The  cases  of  the  gypsies,  though  aggravated  by 
their  demeanor  toward  him,  he  woul<|,  for  my  suko,  he 
said,  talce  into  consideration,  and  in  the  meantime  delay 
proceedings  until  the  return  of  my  husband.    Thai,  eve- 
ning the  rector  visited  our  camp ;  easy  and  Jocular ,  as  if 
he  had  been  one  of  ourselves,  or  intimate  with  us  for 
years.    I  had  much  to  do  to  prevent  him  from  being 
insulted ;  as  it  was,  he  got  but  sullen  looks  and  a  frail  dis- 
guise of  contempt.    The  gypsies  can,  like  other-s,  be  re- 
sentful, but  can  also  as  readily  forgive.     The  rector's 
offence  was  not  trivial ;  his  treatment  of  them  was  a  wan- 
ton injury,  yet  on  my  account,  and  knowing  his  power  and 
influence,  he  was  suffered  to  call  and  to  depart  without 
hearing  any  offensive  observations.     The  next  day  ho 
called,  and  the  day  after ;  he  evinced  a  desire  to  become 
familiar,  and  it  was  soon  noticed  that  he  paid  obtrusive 
attentions  to  a  handsome  woman,  the  young  wife  of  one 
of  our  men.    A  quarrel  ensued,  I  could  not  prevent  it,  and 
the  rector  was  driven  with  curses  and  bitter  reproaches 
from  our  camp. 

After  this,  no  one  could  be  more  base  or  treacherous ; 
he  sent  a  bailiff  to  collect  the  fines ;  my  husband  had  but 
just  returned,  and  he  called  upon  the  reverend  magistrate 
to  pay  the  penalties,  as  the  easiest  mode  of  getting  rid  of 
the  trouble,  but  fresh  troubles  followed.  After  the  rector 
had  sent  some  of  his  poor  parishioners  to  prison,  a  great 
uproar  took  place,  and  about  midnight  some  of  his  prop- 
erty was  maliciously  injured,  and  some  was  stolen.  We 
knew  nothing  of  this,  for  Adrian  had  determined  upon 
removal  from  the  place,  and  he.had  already  sent  on  some 
of  our  things :  and  though  the  weather  had  become  very 
cold,  wet  and  stormy,  he  would  not  remain,  but  in  his 
eagerness  to  get  away,  he  failed  to  take  the  usual  precau- 
tions, and  was  for  some  hours  under  u  drenching  rain 
while  going  forward  to  our  new  ground.    The  next  day  he 

•  Soe  Noto  13. 


THR  HEATHENS  Of  THE  HEATtl. 


277 


felt  very  f  ooiiy ;  we  had  barely  time  to  fix  our  tents  and 
get  things  arranged  in  our  new  location,  before  he  had  to 
lie  down;  by  evening  he  grew  worse,  and  before  it  waa 
dark,  news  had  reached  us  that  greatly  aggravated  his 
symptoms.  We  heard  that,  on  the  night  of  our  departure, 
another  unlawful  visit  had  been  paid  to  the  rector's  prem- 
ises, and  that  his  stables  and  out-houses  had  been  burnt 
to  the  ground ;  that  his  horses  had  been  saved  with  diffi- 
culty, but  that  much  valuable  property  had  been  destroy- 
ed; and  worse  than  all,  it  had  been  asserted  by  his 
reverence,  that  it  was  all  the  work  of  the  vagabond  gypsies 
—one  or  more  of  his  outraged  parishioners  were,  no  doubt, 
the  real  culprits— but  in  the  excitement,  our  people,  who 
were  really  innocent,  were  wantonly  charged  with  the 
offence. 

This  report  had  a  very  bad  effect  upon  my  husband,  his* 
fever  increased,  he  raved  wildly  through  the  night;  by 
daylight  he  grew  calmer,  and  obtained  a  little  sleep,  and 
"while  in  this  state  of  repose,  he  was  rudely  disturbed  by 
two  constables,  who  had  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  as  prin- 
cipal in  the  arson  lately  committed.  Some  of  our  men 
became  furious,  and  were  fully  prepared  to  resist  the  con- 
stables. Adrian  again  became  delirous,  and  his  other 
symptoms  grew  alarming.  Among  ourselves  we  almost 
always  treat  our  own  sick,  but  in  this  case  I  found  it  nec- 
essary to  send  for  a  physician ;  his  certificate  was  any  way 
requisite  to  satisfy  the  constables  that  their  prisoner  could 
not  be  removed.  It  was  with  difficulty  after  all  that  we 
got  these  men  to  leave  us,  they  paid  little  regard  to  my 
feelings,  they  seemed  to  care  nothing  for  the  distress  they 
caused  us,  and  it  was  not  until  the  doctor,  who  was  a 
humane  person,  gave  heavy  bonds  for  the  appearance  of 
my  husband  upon  his  recovery,  that  they  wont  away. 

Gracious  heavens,  what  days*  nnd  what  nii^'hts  followed! 
Prostrate  before  us  all,  raving  and  helpless,  lay  the  pride 
of  my  life,  the  waning  star  of  my  existence,  my  love,  my 
hope,  my  all.  0 1  God,  what  a  change  from  manhood, 
health,  and  beauty,  to  the  poor,  pale,  blighted,  withering 


in 


"W 


m 


f  ■:'■  U 


M 


278 


THE  HEATHENS  OE  THE  HEATIT. 


creature  before  us !  All  that  couM  be  done  was  done ;  the 
devotion  of  our  people  wuh  nioHt  affecting.  I  sat  by  him 
ni^ht  and  day,  I  alone  moistened  his  i)arched  lips,  and 
heard  his  slightest  whisper,  and  waited  and  waited  to 
hear  him  breathe  my  name.  Sleep  seemed  to  have  left 
me  forever,  but  how  dreadful  were  my  waking  dreams! 
Days  and  nights  must  have  again  passed  away  when  I 
seemed  suddenly  awakened  from  one  of  these  wretched 
trances.  Was  it  the  awlul  silence  that  \vhisi)ered  me  to 
listen?  Ha!  that  was  my  name.  O  God  I  O  Adrian! 
There  he  still  lay,  his  ejcn  now  pleading  to  mine.  I 
looked  from  him  to  those  now  around  us.  It  was  night 
and  the  feeble  light  cast  a  melancholy  ray;  and  there 
stood  the  doctor  as  if  marking  his  last  pulsations.  Would 
they  had  been  mine!  'Zingari.'  Yes!  Great  God,  why 
calls  Adrian  now!  I  clasped  my  hands  and  looked  from 
him  again  in  terror.  Was  it  that  wild  look  of  mine  that 
bid  them  weep  ?  O  yes,  they  wept  and  were  sobbing,  and 
some  of  the  little  gypsy  children  who  would  stay  near  us 
were  weeping  and  sobbing  too.  But  I  could  not  drop  a 
tear.  Those  poor  fading  eyes  then  looked  upon  all  affec- 
tionately, and  then  turned  again  to  me  pleading  and  piti- 
ful, as  if  to  look  a  last  adieu.  'Zingari.*  My  name  whis- 
pered again!  'Yes,  I  am  by  thy  side.'  By  an  effort  he 
laid  his  hand  in  mine— the  blood  seemed  to  rush  from  my 
heart.  That  attenuated  hand  was  now  cold  and  clammy, 
the  touch  of  death  was  on  it.  When  I  knelt,  the  others 
did  the  same ;  tlune  were  tears,  but  not  a  sob  was  now 
heard,  the  only  sound  was  the  faint  moan  <ir  llie  melan- 
choly night  wind.  He  must  have  thought  it  a  call  for 
him;  his  last  smile  came  with  his  last  words— his  solemn 
but  his  affectionate  parting— 'Zingari,  Zingari,  we  shall 
meet  again.'  " 

Here  Zingari  was  once  more  completely  overcome;  the 
tears  poured  fast  down  her  sunken  cheeks,  and  she  was 
an  object  of  sincere  pity  to  Esther,  who  now  felt  totally 
unable  to  control  her  own  feelings  of  sorrow. 

After  a  mournful  silence  the  poor  old  gypsy  woman 


)ne;  tho 
by  him 
ips,  and 
aited  to 
ave  left 
dreams  1 
when  I 
wretched 
d  me  to 
Adrian! 
nine.    I 
IS  ni^lit 
id  there 
Would 
^od,  why 
ed  from 
ine  that 
ing,  and 
near  us 
t  drop  a 
ill  affec- 
md  piti- 
ne  whis- 
ffort  he 
!rom  my 
lamray, 
e  others 
vas  now 
melan- 
call  for 
solemn 
ive  shall 

me;  tho 
she  was 
i  totally 

woman 


tttR  HKATHKNB  OP  THE  UEATtt. 


279 


ftIK)ke  again  :  "  It  was  our  last,  sad  parting.  I  never  saw 
him  again.  I  must  have  swoonod  at  the  moment  of  his 
death,  and  the  lurl<ing  fever,  which  I  must  have  hitherto 
controlled  by  some  powerful  moral  influence,  had  now 
full  sway,  and  boiled  in  my  blood,  and  burned  in  my  brain, 
and  left  me  raving  and  senseless.  For  over  a  month  I  lay 
l>rostrate  and  unconscious,  oscillating  between  life  and 
death.  O,  wouM  that  death  had  then  the  victory  1  O  that 
oblivion,  or  nirvana,  had  come  to  save  me  from  that  ter- 
rible loneliness  of  heart,  and  from  all  future  sorrows! 
More  than  a  month  had  been  as  completely  blotted  out  of 
my  life  as  if  I  had  no  existence  during  that  period.  But 
reason  dawned  again,  reason  that  brought  me  a  dread  rec- 
ollection of  what  had  lately  passed.  How  I  then  wished 
for  death!  By  degrees  I  was  informed  of  Adrian's  inter- 
ment ;  of  the  refusal  of  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  in 
which  we  then  were,  to  permit  the  sacred  remains  of  my 
husband  to  desecrate  the  place  of  Christian  burial.  This 
clergyman  had  sympathized  with  his  clerical  brother 
whose  property  was  said  to  have  been  destroyed  by  us ; 
and  was  not  Adrian  in  his  sight  an  unconvicted  felon,  and 
worse,  an  unconverted  heathen  ?  No  better  did  he  think 
him ;  and  the  idea  of  permitting  him  to  rest  in  consecrat- 
ed ground  with  the  baptized  dead  of  the  Church,  could 
not  be  thought  of.  liurial  was  refused.  Many  of  the  hum- 
ble laborers  of  the  neighborhood  felt  for  us,  and  would 
willingly  h  ive  overruled  the  decision  of  the  uncharitable 
priest,  but  they  were  powerless— the  law  was  on  his  side.* 
The  gypsies  would  not,  however,  put  their  beloved  chief 
under  ground  in  a  common  Held,  or  by  the  road  side,  and, 
as  we  were  then  not  tar  from  this  place,  besides  having 
many  warm  friends  among  the  poor  rough  people  of  the 
Heath,  to  whom  my  husband  had  often  been  very  kind,  it 
was  privately  suggested  that  he  should  be  interred  at 
Pendell.    He  was  taken  away  from  me  in  the  night— I 


•  It  is  not  uncommon  for  clerical  blfirots  to  refuse  interment  to 
those  who  have  not  boon  bnptized  in  the  State  Church. 


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280 


tSE  HfiAtflENS  OV  tUB  fifiA^llfl. 


knew  nothing  of  it  at  tlie  time.  There  was  sorrow  Upon 
the  Heath  when  his  loss  was  known,  and  if  a  rector  or 
parson  of  any  kind  had  interfered  to  dispute  his  right  to  a 
few  feet  of  earth  in  the  old  grave  yard,  I  believe  that  theso 
wild  impulsive  creatures  would  have  torn  down  the  par- 
sonage, if  not  the  very  church  itself.  Our  friends  fortun- 
ately met  with  no  hindrance.  You  were  not  then  born  ; 
neither  did  your  father  yet  live  at  Pendell.  There  was,  I 
am  told,  a  great  procession  by  night,  and  there  were  hun- 
dreds that  were  seen  weeping  for  the  first  time,  whoso 
hardened  natures,  it  was  said,  had  lost  the  feeling  that 
produces  tears.  That  guileless  old  man,  Stephen  Gray— 
who  was  then  young— had  a  grave  ready.  His  friend, 
Sarah  Afton,  held  a  lamp;  and  though  there  was  no 
religious  service,  no  formal  prayer,  or  no  funeral  rite, 
Adrian's  tomb  was  moistened  and  bedewed  with  tears,  and 
all  that  remained  of  my  poor  dear  husband  was  consigned 
to  the  earth,  more  like  the  ashes  of  a  real  prince  of  men, 
than  the  body  of  one  accused  of  crime,  and  hated  and 
despised  by  clerical  despots  who  knew  nothing  of  his  vir- 
tues. 

You  may  have  often  seen  his  gra\e ;  it  is  in  a  remote 
corner,  not  far  from  the  resting-place  of  the  ancient  Val- 
iant family.  Old  Stephen  Gray  can  point  it  out— I  must 
live  near  it  forever.  It  is  my  flower  garden;  the  only 
little  spot  of  earth  that  I  cultivate,  There  I  often  watch 
my  lilies  in  the  moonlight,  and  wait  in  the  silent  night, 
and  gaze  at  the  distant  stars,  until  the  weeping  flowers 
mingle  their  tears  with  mine.  While  my  hand  has  still 
its  cunning,  roses  shall  ever  bloom  around  him.  See,  I 
have  one  of  them  here,"  and  Zingari  displayed  a  faded 
rose  pressed  close  to  her  heart,  "  and  when  I  pluck  an- 
other, I  hide  this  withered  thing  in  the  same  earth  that 
hides  him  who  was  the  sacred  lotus  flower  of  my  exist- 
ence. From  this  same  grave  I  have  often  listened  to  your 
music  at  .midnight;  and  the  solemn  tones  of  the  organ  in 
the  old  church  have  often  lured  me  to  dream  of  a  here- 
fifter. 


Ttin  fiEATBEKS  01*  I'fiB  BEAtfl. 


ttl 


ow  Upon 
ector  or 
ight  to  a 
lat  these 
the  pai- 
s  fortun- 
3n  born ; 
re  was,  I 
^ere  hun- 
e,  whose 
ling  that 
a  Gray— 
s  friend, 

was  no 
sral  rite, 
ears,  and 
onsigned 

of  men, 
ated  and 
f  his  vir- 

i  remote 
lent  Val- 

I  must 
the  only 
3n  watch 
it  night, 

flowers 
las  still 
See,  I 

a  faded 
luck  an- 
rth  that 
ny  exist- 
i  to  your 
orgar.  in 
!  a  here* 


*Zingari,  we  shall  meet  again.'  These  were  his  last 
words.  O  tell  me,  is  such  a  meeting  possible  ?  Is  there  to 
be  a  hereafter,  a  happy  reunion  of  those  long  separated, 
a  never-ending  period  of  bliss  for  souls  that  are  immor- 
tal ?  Is  there  an  Everlasting  ?  Can  we  have  a  proof  of 
the  immortality  of  a  single  soul,  or  of  the  forever  of  a 
created  intelligence  ?  Forever  I  O  the  Immensity  of  that 
unending  of  which  time  itself  is  but  the  shadow!  O  the 
unceasing  changes  of  that  Forever  1  Generation  after 
generation  to  pass  away,  the  mighty  works  of  man  to 
crumble,  immense  rocks  to  become  dust,  great  mountains 
to  wear  away,  the  vast  ocean  to  become  dry,  and  the  whole 
earth  itself  to  be  dissolved  into  its  original  vapor.  And 
then,  after  eons  of  ages,  suns,  stars  and  planets  to  fade  out 
and  still  interminable  cycles  of  time  to  be  peri»etually 
flowing  onward,  flowing  onward  into  the  vast  abyss  of 
eternity,  and  still  to  be  no  nearer  the  end !  O,  that  incom- 
prehensible word,  Forever—that  overwhelming  idea  of 
duration— Eternity. 


!  t 


OHAPTEE   XXVI. 


m 


m 


/■ .  * 


-h 


THE  STORY  OF  AGNES. 

'^  A  RHORT  time  after  the  sorrowful  visit  to  Pondoll," 
-^^  resumed  Zingari,  "we  moved  to  that  place— I 
wished  to  be  near  the  grave  of  Adrian.  At  first  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood  were  friendly — we  found  the  working 
class  always  so — but  the  evil  rumor  of  being  connected 
with  the  destruction  of  the  reverend  magistrate's  property 
followed,  and  many  persons  kept  away  as  if  afraid  of  being 
seen  with  us.  The  clergy  in  many  places  had  warned 
their  parishioners  to  give  us  no  further  encouragement; 
they  were  men  who  had  it  in  their  power  to  serve  or  to 
injure,  and  it  might  not  be  safe  to  oppose  their  wishes. 
In  old  times,  as  you  may  be  aware,  our  people  were 
dreadfully  persecuted  by  Popes,  and  other  fanatical 
Christian  rulers.  The  principal  Christian  nations  of 
Europe  vied  with  one  another  in  hanging,  and  burning* 
and  otherwise  brutally  persecuting  them  for  being  di- 
viners and  wicked  heathens!*  As  it  w^as  now,  however, 
we  felt  that  we  were  suspected  and  watched,  and  that  the 
better  plan  would  be  to  remove  to  another  place  in  order 
that  time  might  enable  us  to  prove  how  false  were  the 
accusations  against  us,  and  how  peaceable  and  orderly  we 
could  be  among  those  that  were  willing  to  confide  in  our 
good  conduct.     The  people  of  the  Heath  proved  to  be 


•In  England  barbarous  decrees  were  issued  agrainsttho  gypsies 
by  King  Henry  VIII  in  1631,  and  by  Queen  Elizabetli  in  1563. 


%■-. 

^ 


i      ' 


THE  B2ATHEN3  OF  THE  HEATH. 


283 


Pendoll," 
t  place — I 
the  people 
le  workinj? 

connected 
's  property 
id  of  bein;jf 
id  warned 
ragement ; 
erve  or  to 
3ir  wishes, 
ople  were 
■  fanatical 
nations  of 
d  burning' 
:  being  di- 
r,  however, 
nd  that  the 
3e  in  order 
3  were  the 

orderly  we 
ifide  in  our 
:)ved  to  be 


btho  gypsies 

>63. 


our  friends.  Wretchedly  poor  and  degraded  even  as  they 
then  were,  they  felt  that,  like  themselves  we  had  been 
badly  treated  by  most  of  the  clergy;  they  sympathized 
with  us  in  our  misfortunes,  and  gave  us  an  invitation  to 
the  only  place  they  had  to  offer.  We  accepted  their  kind 
proposal.  Even  in  that  desolate  region  we  found  one 
pleasant  spot,  one  shaded  retreat  at  some  distance  from 
the  noisy  taverns  on  the  Heath.  The  rough  toil-worn 
men  were  glad  to  see  us  come  among  them,  though  stern 
and  almost  sava'ge  towards  most  others,  and  often  brutal 
among  themselves,  they  were  invariably  kind  to  us,  and 
many  of  them,  I  have  little  doubt,  would  have  died  for  our 
protection ;  and  for  years  we  have  lived  together  without 
altercation  of  any  kind. 

As  I  said,  I  wished  to  be  near  the  graveyard ;  the  Heath 
is  not  far  from  Pendell— you  know  where  our  tents  are— 
and  I  could  travel  to  the  old  church  every  day  if  I  chose, 
or  steal  away  at  night,  as  I  often  do,  to  sit  by  that  grave, 
close  to  which  I  must  expect  before  long  to  be  laid  my- 
self. 

In  about  six  months  after  my  husband's  death  I  lost 
my  oldest  child ;  she  had  always  been  delicate,  and  having 
been  very  much  attached  to  her  father,  she  seemed  even 
at  her  infantile  age,  to  feel  generally  depressed  at  his  loss. 
She  pined  away  and  died  quietly  in  my  arms— another 
sore  affliction— but  as  she  had  not  been  baptized  in  the 
Christian  sanctuary,  in  order  to  save  any  trouble  with  the 
rector  or  curate,  and  to  insure  her  peaceable  interment 
in  so-called  consecrated  ground,  we  took  her  away  stealth- 
ily by  night  and  laid  her  by  the  side  of  her  father. 

Well,  you  must  believe  that  the  additional  bereave- 
ment added  much  to  my  sorrow,  but  I  still  had  my  re- 
maining child  to  claim  my  attention,  and  to  save  me  from 
the  great  despondency  which  might  otherwise  follow. 
Bhe  grew  up  to  be  a  healthy,  beautiful  v/oman,  and,  in 
course  of  time,  she  became  the  wife  of  a  trader  who  used 
to  deal  among  our  people.  He  was  an  honest  person,  no 
believer  in  any  kind  of  religion,  and  had  no  national  pre- 


t  (i 


K  1 


284 


THH  HEATHeXS  of  THE  HEATfl. 


!« 


m 


I?  i        ml 


iim  ' 


^u .^ 


diloctions  to  interfere  with  his  sympathies  in  the  choice  of 
a  wife,  or  of  a  friend ;  and  none  could  be  of  a  more  genial 
or  humane  disposition.  Ho  had  snffloient  means  to  keep 
my  dauf^hter  comfortably;  and  their  married  life,  thougli 
of  short  duration,  was  one  of  the  happiest. 

About  a  month  after  their  marriage  they  removed  to  jl 
distant  part  of  England ;  I  was  pressed  to  go  with  them, 
but  I  had  decided  to  remain.  Nearly  two  years  after- 
wards she  gave  birth  to  a  daughter— this  child  was  Agnes. 
She  was  the  only  child  they  ever  had,  aftd  all  that  could 
be  done  by  parents  to  educate  and  fit  her  for  a  higher 
station  was  done  by  them ;  and  before  Agnes  was  fifteen 
years  of  age,  she  was  generally  considered  to  be  the 
most  accomplished  girl  of  the  neighborhood  in  which 
she  resided.  A  little  after  this  her  father  removed  to  a 
village  riot  far  from  the  city  of  Oxford,  and  they  were 
scarcely  well  settled  in  that  place  before  he  died  sud- 
denly. I  visited  my  daughter  at  that  time  and  offered  her 
such  consolation  as  I  could. — I  had  only  seen  her  twice 
previously,  since  her  marriage,  once  when  Agnes  was  born, 
and  once  afterward  when  she  had  a  severe  sickness.  I 
might  have  lived  with  my  daughter ;  her  husband,  often 
entreated  me  to  do  so,  but  my  habits  of  life  were  so  estab- 
lished, that  I  could  not  live  away  from  my  gypsy  friends, 
nor  at  such  a  distance  from  that  sacred  spot  in  Pendell 
graveyard. 

For  some  time  after  this  sad  loss  my  daughter  contin- 
ued to  reside  near  Oxford.  Though  her  husband  had  lost 
in  certain  business  transactions,  still  he  left  sufficient 
means  to  enable  her  and  her  child  to  live  in  comparative 
comfort.  Agnes  became  a  line  singer,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  she  was  induced  to  appear  at  public  concerts. 
Indeed  it  was  asserted  that  her  vocal  powers  were  a  great 
attraction  on  many  such  occasions;  and  whenever  her 
name  appeared  on  the  bills  a  crowd  was  sure  to  be  in 
attendance.  Her  mother  of  course  felt  proud  of  this. 
Agnes  was  even  mentioned  in  the  papers  as  one  yet  likely 
to  become  a  prima  ctonna,  and  it  was  hinted  that  certain 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


285 


choice  of 
>re  genial 
IS  to  keep 
B,  thougb 

oved  to  IL 
th  them, 
xrs  after- 
as  Agnes, 
hat  could 
a  higher 
as  fifteen 
to  be  the 
in  which 
lOved  to  a 
they  were 
died  sud- 
•ffered  her 
her  twice 
was  born, 
ckness.    I 
and,  often 
3  so  estab- 
y  friends, 
n  Pendell 

er  contin- 
d  had  lost 

sufficient 
mparative 
.t  was  not 

concerts. 
)re  a  great 
never  her 
)  to  be  in 
d  of  this. 

yet  likely 
lat  certain 


great  managers  of  London  Opera  Houses  had  an  eye  upon 
her. 

Agnes  in  person  was  simply  beautiful,  In  manner  mod- 
est, and  in  disposition  kind  and  confiding.  She  was  devo- 
ted to  her  mother,  and  the  liberal  sums  which  she  readily 
obtained  for  her  musical  services  were  at  once  poui:ed  into 
the  lap  of  her  loving  parent.  \n  course  of  time  her  name  as 
a  singer  had  become  famous,  and  among  others  from  dis- 
tances far  and  near,  certain  students  from  Oxford  came  to 
hear  her.  Two  6t  these  in  particular  paid  her  very  marked 
attention ;  they  were  divinity  students,  or  nominally  such, 
and  one  of  these  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  nobleman.  He 
had  heard  her  sing  at  the  Cathedral  in  Oxford,  to  which 
church  she  had  of  (en  been  invited,  particularly  on  import- 
ant occasions,  as  if  to  make  the  services  more  attractive. 

You  are  probably  aware  that  it  is  quite  common  for  the 
aristocracy  to  secure  positions  in  the  Church  for  their 
j'ounger  sons.  If  a  nobleman  has  foui^sons,  he  generally 
manages  to  get  the  eldest  into  Parliament  with  a  view  to 
the  diplomatic  service,  or  to  a  higher  office ;  the  next  one 
he  gets  into  the  army;  the  next  into  the  navy;  and 
should  no  other  opening  be  found,  whereby  an  office 
may  be  monopolized,  the  portals  of  the  church  are  always 
open;  for  the  episcopate  of  the  establishment  have  always 
had  a  preference  for  aristocratic  recruits ;  and  somehow 
these  scions  of  nobility  generally  succeed  after  ordination 
in  attaining  that  special  spiritual  grace  said  to  be  so  indis- 
pensable as  a  qualification  for  an  Episcopal  throne,  far 
sooner  than  men  more  learned,  or,  as  considered  by  many, 
more  worthy. 

"Well,  these  two  divinity  students  were  evidently  great 
friends;  they  were  mostly  seen  together;  or  at  least, 
where  the  one  was,  the  other  was  sure  to  be  if  possible. 
There  was  good  reason  for  this ;  one,  as  I  have  said,  was 
the  son  of  a  lord,  the  other  was  the  son  of  a  poor  attor- 
ney, whose  limited  income  obliged  him  to  pinch  himself, 
and  live  as  sparingly  as  possible,  in  order  that  his  only 
son  might  be  enabled  to  gain  University  honors,  and 


S: 


*;rT * .    ... 


Irm 


286 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


afterward,  perhaps,  through  the  influence  of  some  profli- 
gate Christian  who  had  the  presentation  of  livings  at  his 
disposal,  to  get  a  chance  of  entering  the  Clinrch.  The  son 
of  the  attorney,  familiarly  called  '  Tom '  by  intimates,  was 
of  a  wily,  servile  dispositibn,  and  something  peculiar  in 
his  manner  took  the  fancy  of  a  fellow-student,  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Vernay,  who  made  this  young  man  his  boon  compan- 
ion on  almost  all  occasions,  and  even  Hupi)lio(l  him  liber- 
ally with  money  from  the  ample  alU)wuiice  granted  him 
by  his  noble  father.  Tom  knew  what  he  was  about ;  by 
every  act  he  cultivated  the  friendship  of  Vernay— friend- 
ship with  him  was  more  an  art  than  a  feeling— and,  with- 
out seeming  obsequious,  he  still  managed  to  regu'ate  his 
tastes  and  his  opinions  to  be  in  accord  with  those  of  his 
aristocratic  fellow-student. 

Vernay  was  struck  with  the  beautiful  face  of  Agnes ; 
her  voice  thrilled  him  as  no  other  voice  ever  did ;  he  soon 
began  to  feel  that  he  could  not  live  without  her ;  and'  it  is 
possible  that  he  would,  if  necessary,  have  resigned  title 
and  family  claims  to  call  her  his  owi..  Hi»  companion  was 
not  slow  to  discover  the  impression  which  Agnes  had 
made.  He,  too,  was  somewhat  struck  with  her  appear- 
ance, and  would  have  liked  to  make  advances  on  his  own 
account,  but,  following  his  usual  course  toward  Vernay, 
he  readily  gave  way  to  him ;  and  though  he  lavished  much 
praise  upon  the  personal  charms  of  Agnes,  he,  took 
good  care  to  leave  the  impression  that  he  was,  however, 
no  way  smitten  with  the  beautiful  singer ;  and  he  made  it 
a  point  to  turn  the  warm  feelings  of  Vernay  for  Agnes  to 
his  advantage  in  other  respects. 

Vernay,  being  rather  diffident — and  more  especially  so 
toward  the  object  of  his  affections,  scarcely  knew  how  to 
obtain  an  introduction  to  Agnes ;  a  mere  hint  to  his  friend, 
however,  was  sufficient.  Tom,  who  could  be  forward 
enough,  managed  to  bring  the  young  people  together. 
Vernay  had  a  delightful  interview,  for  which  he  felt  addi- 
tionally grateful  to  his  confident ;  the  artful  Tom  had  said 
much  to  Agnes  in  praise  of  his  fellow-student,  and  it 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


287 


HO  profll- 
gs  at  his 
The  son 
lates,  was 
culiar  in 
the  Hon. 
compan- 
im  liber- 
ited  him 
bout ;  by 
— friend- 
nd,  with- 
u'ate  his 
se  of  his 

• 

f  Agnes ; 

he  soon 
and"  it  is 
ned  title 
nion  was 
nes  had 

appear- 
his  own 
Vernay, 
ed  much 
he/  took 
lowevef, 

made  it 
ignes  to 

cially  so 
V  how  to 
s  friend, 
forward 
ogether. 
Bit  addi- 
had  said 
,  and  it 


must  be  said  that  Agnes  herself  felt  greatly  interested  in 
the  noble  young  man  who  had  paid  her  so  many  compli- 
ments; and,  apart  from  family  connection—^  sentiment 
which  c^uld  not  influence  her  toward  him— she  secretly 
hoped  and  wished  that  the  impulsive  feelings  of  Vernay 
might  be  sincere,  and  might  ripen  into  love— a  love  which 
she  could  return. 

Months  passed  away,  the  interviews  ^3etween  Vernay 
and  Agnes  were  frequent,  and  mutual  love  was  the  result. 
Already  the  fame  of  Agnes  had  reached  London,  and  a 
splendid  professional  career  was  before  her.  Operatic 
managers  had  made  tempting  proposals;  these,  at  the 
intimation  of  Vernay,  she  at  once  declined,  and  for  this 
compliance  he  was  just  as  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice.  He 
well  knew  that  his  father's  aristocratic  ideas  would  never 
permit  him  to  consent  to  the  union  of  his  son  with  a  so- 
called  Mow-born  person,'  more  particularly  with  one 
allied  in  any  way  to  the  gypsy  race,  and  that  as  it  would 
be  useless  to  try  and  obtain  his  permission  to  a  connec- 
tion which  would  only  be  considered  degrading ;  Vernay, 
therefore,  resolved  to  forfeit  all  family  claims  and  get 
married  privately. 

It  must  be  said  that  Agnes,  though  willing  to  sacrifice 
all  for  him  she  loved,  disapproved  of  the  hasty  decision 
of  Vernay ;  she  advised  him  to  see  his  father,  and  if  all 
entreaties  failed,  he  might  then  do  as  he  thought  best; 
any  way,  it  would,  she  thought,  be  better  to  wait ;  and  it. 
was  with  reluctance  that  she  at  last  gave  her  consent  to 
be  clandestinely  married.  This  matter  being  then  so  far 
arranged  between  the  two  most  interested,  next  it  was 
considered  necessary  to  apprise  his  friend  Tom  of  their 
decision.  This  worthy  student  was  at  the  time  rather 
taken  aback ;  he  did  not  fancy  that  this  love  matter  had 
matured  so  quickly.  Though  from  the  first  an  admirer  of 
Agnes,  he  had  sufficient  policy  to  appear  indifferent  to  her 
charms;  but  subsequent  intercourse  bad  only  increased 
his  admiration,  and  while  pretending  to  pleud,  or  to  nego- 
tiate for  Yernay,  he  begame  @P  ipfatuate4  himself,  tiiat 


A    I! 


jit 


i 


•:1i. 


288 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  bare  Idea  of  her  becoming  the  wife  of  another  mado 
him  resolve  to  delay,  and  finally  to  prevent,  if  possible, 
the  intended  union.  Wise  in  his  way,  he  had  fully  gained 
the  confidence  of  Vernay,  and  he  approached  him  cau- 
tiously. He  advised  ut  once  that  there  should  be  no 
unseemly  haste ;  would  it  not  be  better  to  give  his  noble 
father  some  hint  of  what  he  intended  to  do;  perhaps  if 
he  were  to  aslc  him  to  see  Agnes,  just  but  once,  he  might 
agree  to  do  so,  and  then  it  is  possible  that  his  opinion  of 
her  might  be  changed.  He  would,  no  doubt,  see  in  her  a 
person  not  only  educated,  but  one  of  distinguished  talents, 
and  a  lady  in  every  respect ;  and  he  might  after  all  be  so 
favorably  impressed  with  her,  as  to  consider  it  no  discredit 
to  receive  her  as  a  daughter. 

Then  again  he  argued  delay  for  another  reason.  Would 
it  not  be  better  to  wait  until  after  his  ordination— this 
would  surely  be  within  a  year.  And  again,  Vernay,  he 
said,  might,  by  being  too  hasty  in  this  matter,  become 
blind  to  defects  of  character  and  disposition  which  might 
possibly  in  after  years  cast  a  shadow  upon  his  happiness. 
Not  that  he  could  see  the  least  blemish  himself,  not  at  all, 
but  such  a  thing  might  exist,  and,  as  a  sincere  friend,  ho 
begged  of  him  to  take  time  and  give  his  noble  father  an 
opportuni^^y  of  saying  either  yes  or  no  in  a  matter  of  such 
importance. 

Upon  reflection,  Vernay  consented  to  be  advised  by  his 
friend,  and  to  apprise  his  father  of  his  intention  to  marry. 
Agnes  also,  thoughnot  too  trustful  of  her  lover's  confidant, 
thought  it  would  be  the  most  prudent  course  to  adopt; 
and  as  Vernay,  still  dififldent,  could  not  approach  his 
father  on  such  a  subject,  it  was  agreed  that  Tom,  his 
friend  and  fellow-student  should,  on  his  behalf,  call  upon 
the  nobleman  and  explain  how  matters  stood.  Tom  had 
been  at  the  Hall  two  or  three  times  before  as  the  guest  of 
Vernay ;  and  now  with  a  letter  from  him  to  his  father, 
lie  made  his  prompt  appearance  at  the  family  seat  to  nego- 
tiate in  this  delicate  matter.  He  was,  as  usual,  well  re- 
ceiTed,  he  delivered  his  message  with  the  most  serious 


THE  nEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


28a 


her  made 
!  possible, 
lly  gained 
him  cau- 
ild  be  no 
his  noble 
perhaps  if 
he  might 
opinion  of 
se  in  her  a 
ed  talents, 
r  all  be  so 

0  discredit 

►n.  Would 

ition— this 

'"ernay,  he 

)r,  become 

lich  might 

tiappiness. 

not  at  all, 

friend,  ho 

father  an 

:er  of  such 

ised  by  his 

1  to  marry, 
confidant, 
to  adopt; 

)roach  his 
Tom,  his 
,  call  upon 
Tom  had 
tie  guest  of 
his  father, 
tat  to  nego- 
al,  well  re- 
08t  serious 


conntonancc,  ns  if  be  were  reluctantly  performing  a  disa- 
groeabio  duty  simply  to  please  a  warm  friend.  Ho  know 
that  Vernay's  father  would  never  consent  that  his  son 
should  marry  such  a  person  as  Agnes :  and,  just  as  ho 
exi)ected— even  just  as  he  had  hoped— the  noblenuin  was 
of  course  indignant  when  he  heard  the  story,  and  would 
have  threatened  at  once  were  it  not  for  the  artful  proi)o- 
sal  made  by  Tom,  whoso  policy  it  was  to  mal<o  it  api>ear, 
that,  as  the  true  friend  of  Vernay,  ho  had  advised  him  not 
to  become  too  intimate  with  a  young  person,  who,  tliough 
of  fair  character,  might  bo  otlierwise  sufficiently  design- 
ing to  lead  him  to  believe  that  lovo  alono  was  her  solo 
incentive,  instead  of  perhaiis — which  it  jn'obubly  was— a 
desire  for  a  connection  with  a  noble  and  wealthy  family; 
that  in  fact  he  had  used  every  argument  in  his  power  to 
warn  his  friend  of  the  dangers  of  a  hasty  union,  but  to  no 
purpose.  He  professed  the  greatest  desire  not  only  to 
serve  his  friend,  but  to  save  a  distinguished  nobleman  the 
mortification  of  the  misalliance  of  one  of  his  family  with 
a  person  of  birth  so  very  humble.  Tom's  proposal  now 
was,  that  Vernay's  father  should  request  that  no  marriage 
of  his  son,  with  any  person  whatever,  should  take  place 
for  a  year ;  and,  that  during  that  period,  Vernay  should 
travel  alone  on  the  Continent,  and  hold  no  communica- 
tion with  Agnes,  except,  it  might  be  indirectly  through 
the  agency  of  his  college  friend.  Tom  assured  his  lord- 
Bhip  that  he  thought  he  could  prevail  on  Vernay  to  con- 
sent to  this  delay ;  the  task  he  fully  admitted  would  be 
difficult,  still  he  had  strong  hopes  of  being  able  to  induce 
his  friend  to  comply  with  such  a  request.  A  year's  con- 
sideration might  do  much  to  change  hastily  formed  opin- 
ions—to weaken  this  strange  attachment— and  if  at  the 
end  of  that  period  Vernay's  singular  notion  remained 
unchanged  s€me  other  plan  might  be  adopted  to  lead  him 
to  see  his  error. 

In  less  than  a  month  after  Tom's  return  from  the  Hall, 
Vernay  was  in  Switzerland;  his  parting  with  Agnes  had 
been  most  painful ;  some  terrible  foreboding  led  her  to 


13 


ii 


fl 


i    '1 


■■;  Si 


i  II 


i 


290 


THE  IIEATUEN8  OF  THE  IIEATII. 


imfiKine  that  she  would  never  see  him  again.  Tom,  of 
course  made  light  of  the  matter,  and,  after  a  time,  ven- 
tured to  trifle  about  such  very  strict  notions  of  constancy 
as  seemed  to  possess  her  mind :  and  he  gaily  assured  ^r,^ 
that  the  year  would  not  seem  long  If  she  only  tried  to  min- 
gle again  in  public  assemblies.  People,  he  said,  wore  anx- 
ious to  hear  her  splendid  voice  where  it  could  bo  heard  to 
advantage,  and  it  was,  ho  thought,  her  duty  to  cultivate 
and  exercise  the  great  talent  she  possessed,  by  the  fuvor 
of  Providence,  for  the  delight  and  edillcation  of  others. 
Tom,  as  a  divinity  student  could  of  course,  like  all  the 
priestly  tribe,  interlard  his  remarks,  mean  and  desiging 
as  they  might  be,  with  cant  and  religious  phraseology,  and 
soon  after  he  even  hinted  that  she  should  not  refuse  to 
appear  in  the  opera  at  London.  Vernay,  he  asserted, 
would  not  mind  it  now;  though  he  well  knew  that  his 
absent  friend  had  objected  to  have  her  make  any  engage- 
ment with  operatic  manager?. 

•  Nearly  six  months  had  now  passed;  during  the  first 
weeks  of  his  absence  Vernay  had  sent  repeated  messages 
of  his  love,  then  they  became  less  frequent,  and  now  for 
over  a  month  nothing  whatever  had  been  heard  from  the 
wanderer.  Agnes  impressed  to  some  extent  by  the  cun- 
ning assertions  of  Tom  as  to  the^readiness  of  some  im- 
pulsive persons  to  forget  absent  friends,  began  to  have  a 
suspicion  that  Vernay's  professions  of  attachment  might 
have  been  but  impulsive  utterances,  and  that  in  his  travels 
he  had  probably  met  with  some  handsome  high  born  lady 
to  whom  he  was  paying  serious  attentions,  while  she  her- 
self was  in  a  manner  neglected. 

Tom  was  of  course  too  cautious  to  impute  in  plain  words 
that  his  friend  could  readily  grow  indifferent,  but  inuen- 
does  to  that  effect  were  not  wanting,  and  Agnes  still  urged 
by  his  plausible  reasoning,  and  partly  throtfth  a  feeling 
of  resentment  at  the  continued  silence  and  probable  dis- 
affection of  Vernay,  consented  to  appear  in  London  as  a 
principal  singer  in  a  certain  popular  opera.  She  did 
appear,  and  the  applause  which  followed  was  most  enthu- 


TUE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


291 


Tom,  of 
ne,  voa- 
nstancy 
ired  ^c: 
to  min- 
ore  anx- 
Ueard  to 
mltlvate 
he  favor 
f  others. 
3  all  the 
desiging 
ogy,  and 
refuse  to 
asserted, 
that  his 
f  engage- 

ithe  first 
Laessages 
l  now  for 
from  the 
the  cun- 
jome  im- 
to  have  a 
nt  might 
is  travels 
)orn  lady 
)  she  her- 

iln  words 
ut  inuen- 
bill  urged 
a  feeling 
)able  dia- 
don  as  a 
She  did 
st  enthu- 


siastic. Her  success  was  so  groat,  and  so  elated  did  she 
feel  that  she  could  not  resist  the  pleading  of  Interested 
managers  to  appear  again  and  again.  The  press  teemed 
with  extravagant  comments,  and  musical  criiies  felt 
almost  at  a  loss  for  words  to  do  justice  to  her  voice,  as  well 
as  to  her  attractive  appearance  on  the  stage. 

It  was  not  long  before  Vornay  was  apprised  of  what 
Agnes  had  been  doing  in  his  absence.  Copies  of  tlie  Lon- 
don papers  had  been  forwarded  to  him  in  whicli  her  name 
as  the  great  operatic  debutante  had  been  mentioned ;  and 
hints  had  already  been  sent  him  of  how  readily  the  fair 
Agnes  could  forget  her  absent  friends  while  thundera  of 
applause  were  nightly  saluting  her  ears,  and  the  compli- 
ments of  even  princes  were  delivered  to  her  in  perfun\cd 
notes  by  footmen  in  gorgeous  livery. 

More  than  ten  months  of  the  probata  jnary  year  nad 
already  expired,  ^'rray  had  been  as  faithful  as  man 
could  be,  but  when  assured,  even  though  in  the  cautious 
ambiguous  language  of  his  supposed  friend,  that  the  con- 
stancy of  no  woman  could  be  relied  on,  his  anguish  was 
great,  and  the  depression  that  followed  scarcely  left  life 
bearable.  He  would  have  returned  at  once  to  reproach 
Agnes  for  her  presumed  deceit  and  ingratitude,  but  his 
pride  forbade  him.  He  was  soon  noticed  to  have  be- 
come gloomy  and  reticent,  to  wander  away  alone,  and  to 
remain  restless  and  feverish  during  the  long  nights  in  the 
foreign  hotel,  with  none  able  to  whisper  one  word  that 
could  restore  confidence. 

About  this  time  Agnes  had  another  great  triumph;  a 
hundred  fragrant  bouquets  were  thrown  around  her  feet, 
and  garlands  and  coronals  of  roses  wore  flung  to  her  in 
profusion ;  the  assumed  name  of  the  *  Queen  of  Song  '  was 
upon  every  tongue,  and  the  papers  were  again  lavish  with 
the  praises  of  the  beautiful  cantatrice,  yet  even  during  all 
this  elation,  the  heart  of  Agnes  was  true,  and  though  she 
thought  she  had  been  treated  with  neglect;  her  true 
love  never  once  faltered  for  Vernay ;  he  had  been  in  her 
thoughts  continually.   She  wished  to  win  fame  more  on 


MM 


292 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


■:-i 


■  J. 


his  account  than  on  her  >  wn,  and  she  struggled  to  believe 
that  after  all  he  would  not  have  reason  to  reproach  her 
for  the  course  she  pursued  when  the  year  which  was  now 
nearly  completed  had  brought  his  return. 

Yet  another,  and  still  another  great  musical  triumph 
followed,  and  one  of  the  papers  which  recorded  the  addi- 
tional brilliant  ovations  which  she  had  received— she  loved 
t  o  read  these  in  her  secluded  moments— had  also  a  start- 
ling item  of  foreign  intelligence.  An  English  traveler, 
named  Vernay,  th^  son  of  a  distinguished  nobleman,  had 
recklessly  left  his  guide  while  ascending  the  dangerous 
heights  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  had  fallen  from  one  of  the 
precipitous  icy  crags  into  an  abyss,  out  of  which  his  body 
would  not  probably  ever  be  recovered. 

Were  that  icy  mountain  to  burst  asunder  and  reveal  the 
frozen  and  mutilated  victims,  and  the  heaps  of  undecayed 
dead  that  had  lain  for  long  years— perhaps  for  centuries— 
uncofftned  in  its  avalanches,  scattered  about  in  the 
gloomy  depths  of  its  snow  drifts,  the  startled  beholder, 
though  of  the  stoutest  heart,  would  be  horrified  at  the  ap- 
palling sight ;  and  soon  as  Agnes  had  looked  upon  the  ter- 
rible words — the  last  she  ever  read — that  woeful  scene  must 
have  appeared  before  her,  for  with  one  wild  scream  reason 
took  its  flight  and  left  her  to  mutter  her  melancholy  com- 
plaints to  trees  and  shadows,  to  hum  her  pitiful  song  by 
the  running  brook,  to  wail  to  the  night  wind,  and  to  wan- 
der a  maniac  forever. 


*  i  ^, 


I  *s 


